POST SCRIPT
by PocketHero
Summary: Arthur is at University in London he is a closet artist with exceptional ability, with his main focus as sketching landscapes and anatomy. He is being watched by the Captain of the rugby team. Their paths collide when Arthur hears him singing incredibly in the showers and they make a deal. But then 1st of Septemeber came. Very sad Romantic Story of USUK [Rated M - Romance]
1. POST SCRIPT - Part 1

_USUK_

_Arthur(UK) x Alfred(US)_

_2 Part USUK Fluff (For now)_

* * *

_SETTING:_

**LONDON, ENGLAND, UNITED KINGDOM**

YEAR:

**1939**

* * *

**.POST SCRIPT.**

Sing for me.

Just one last time, that's all I ever asked… was it too much maybe.

I still remember the some of the notes.

But there's something about your voice… something rich; warm like brandy swirling in my chest, an inexpressible heat. I could never describe it… hell I still can't describe it.

But there is something about your voice.

There _was_ something about your voice…

* * *

My head shot up from the table. I scoped the area dreamily; still waking up from a deep sleep, that I hadn't been able to receive the night before… my roommate was blabbering in a slurred mess of hot breath reeking of vomit and alcohol. No matter how many times Francis went drinking with his two other friends and was left alone in a parking lot somewhere to drown in his own vomit, I was still the one to peel him off the pavement and drag him back to our dorm by the collar. Ever since we met in primary school as arch enemies I was the one cleaning up his crap. I rubbed the back of my head and realized where I was; this came as a shock to me, "Mister Kirkland, regardless of your perfect scores and straight A's in your courses… I will not tolerate students sleeping in my class!" I was asleep I thought? I rubbed my eyes and looked around at the sniggers and rolling eyeballs staring at me, "…when you're done waking up Arthur I would advise that you turn to page 394 in the text book which has become your pillow it seems… unless if course you have a wish to fail your Biology paper" I nodded.

"Yes, of course sir…" I mumbled glaring at Francis and his two pals from across the room, who simply shrugged.

"As I was saying! Mitochondria…" I hated Biology. Stupid subject full of stupid people with stupid ambitions to be stupid doctors in a stupid world in a stupid galaxy in a stupid universe. I hated Biology. But that didn't stop me from applying for the course as a sub-degree at this cursed University. The only reason I am at this particular University is because my parents didn't care about their runt of the pack; they focussed on my older brothers who were far more successful than I, discovering new species of zooplankton and running one year marathons… boring things like that. I was no biologist, nor an athlete. I had no place in my heart for drama or history. I couldn't write to save my life. I was nothing special.

I wrenched open the thick book to page three hundred and ninety four; life at a cellular level, bloody brilliant. Tired. Suffering from a migraine. Embarrassed. And in Biology. At least the day was almost over… and I could head to my favourite place in the world.

I rested my cheek in my hand as I flicked hopelessly through the bollocks that claimed to be our ultimate for of composition; tiny ovalish shaped objects that swum around in our cytoplasm, it was revolting and boring. I looked up at the black board decorated with white scrawl that appeared as a whole lump of curly lines arranged in squares that look like paragraphs, with the occasional crappy diagram that looked more like a splodge of porridge than a unicellular organism. The teachers nasally voice droned on like the engine of a jet plane. I looked across the room at the other students who actually understood the curls on the wall. All students heads were down.

Except one.

It just had to be him… didn't it.

He peered down at me through his half-rimmed glasses which perched upon the bridge of his nose; in very likeness of parrot tilting forward off its post dangerously close to falling, in fact this man's personality was in very likeness of a parrot itself. Loud, obnoxious, over-enthusiastic, ostentatious and incredibly naïve. He acted as if he were still in high school, and yet God has gifted him with the advantage of age… in other words: He was a two years older than me, and acted five years younger than me. He was the captain of the Varsity Football team; of course! So stereotypical of the damned American! Because it wasn't football at all! Here in the United Kingdom we played Rugby and PROPER Football; not Football and Soccer, my home country was the gentleman of all sports. So technically he was the Captain of the Rugby team. He was on his last year of a Bachelor in Physical Education here and the semester would be ending in no more than two weeks… I still didn't know his name.

In the years I had seen his face lingering about the campus I had never once even given it a thought to utter a word to him. I barely acknowledged his existence. He was like a phantom to me. One minute there then he would have disappeared. I had only ever heard people refer to him as 'The Hero' or 'Captain Jones'; which I thought was some pun on the character 'Indiana Jones' who was 'The Hero' of every movie he starred in. He was best known for dating every girl in his dorm and mine, of course he never got anywhere with them… I hear all the gossip from the girls in the Art rooms… which brings me to my next subject of discussion.

The bell screamed and I uttered a sigh of relief as I tore my gaze away from 'The Hero' and slammed my text book closed and swiftly speeding out the classroom door with book under arm and bag over shoulder. Glad to be out of the lecture hall that had the distinct scent of formaldehyde.

'Out of the frying pan and into the fire' Tolkein would describe this experience of leaving the lecture hall and joining the masses in the great hallways of the Science campus. Recently there have been a huge number of students enrolling for the all of the science courses and physical education courses… curious… because those enrolling in the Arts subjects had become less interested in the subject and moved to the sciences like chemistry or physics. For me that meant good things. As I bashed through the wall of bodies separating me from the stairs up to the cultural suites I was beginning to get a little frustrated as my destination only ever seemed to be getting further and further away. Suddenly a weight disappeared off my shoulder. I looked down. My bag was gone. Frantically I looked around on the floor… perhaps it had slipped off or something. Then a hard object swept beneath my feet and I was flying for a split second before colliding with the cold stone floor. Dropping my text book which held all my 'special' papers; they scattered across the floor beneath black polished shoes and heeled feet, ripping and tearing… all my year's work shredded before my wide eyes. I scrambled on my stomach, flailing arms around in a futile attempt to rescue my precious works. Once I had done all I could I turned on my stomach to file the papers back in their slots in Biology text book. A heavy weight pushed my chest and forced me back onto the floor; knocking the text book out of my hands again, papers flying away like birds. Again. My head thwacked against the stone and I groaned, "what's this? Eyy! It's sleeping beauty all wide eyed and awake! Ahahah!"

"If you don't mind Matthias I have an important meeting to attend-" he pushed his foot into my chest harder.

"Oh now you don't. You're dancing with me now pretty boy!" He chuckled to himself. I tilted my neck to check if the rest of his 'gang' were there, I needn't even check. Matthias Kohler was an exchange student who took pride in taking advantage of the arts students; like me, he was the Vice Captain of the rugby team below 'The Hero'. Like Captain Jones he also had a nickname; only within his posse of foreigners, they called him 'The King'. If he was such a thing it would be a hideous monarchy which would abuse its subjects. The other men in his group were only there to make him look more menacing in numbers; Lukas Bondvik was only terrifying because he didn't know the definition of happiness, his little brother Markus only tagged along to be with Lukas, Berwald hated everything about Matthias but hung around him to refrain his big brother's abusive tendencies… and to protect Tino. The five Nordic exchange students certainly stuck close together… sometimes for the worst. He gestured to Lukas who handed him my bag. I swallowed hard, "now what will we find in here today? Anything worth my trouble?" He began to flick through my notebooks and tear out the rest of my year's work.

"Would you care to give me back my books you bloody git!" he kicked me in the face.

"Sorry, what was that? I couldn't hear you through my shoe?" some other students had begun to gather around by this point and stop to watch and laugh, "why don't you go home and cry to your mama and papa little boy?" At that point I was furious, "oh yeah that's right… you can't…" he clicked his fingers and leant against my chest further, "they're not alive anymore aren't they?" He laughed and dropped my bag upside down on top of me; shaking all of my books on my face, then dropping my bag as the cherry on top.

"Matt!" Matthias squealed like a little pig. Someone emerged from the growing crowd; Matthias removed his foot from my chest, I coughed wildly and sat up instantly. I looked up. The man pushed up his glasses which had slipped down his nose; he glared at the Vice Captain with a stare colder than ice, he crossed his arms across his chest, "what is this?" Matthias cowered beneath the towering blonde.

"Why! He simply tripped and dropped all his books upon himself Cap'n! I was merely helping the poor fellow up!" the angry blonde raised a brow.

"With your foot?" Matt gulped and nodded. The Captain of the rugby team sighed and removed his glasses with one swift movement, "Well I suppose you leave me no choice" he pocketed his glasses and loosened his tie. Rolling up his sleeves he raised his fists to Matthias, "you're a liar and a bully. Now either come at me or get the hell out of my sight! Your choice" Matt shuddered and looked around at the large crowd of eye-whites. He looked down at me with a sneer. He turned away and gestured to his group.

"Come on guys. I've got Rugby practise in ten minutes…" the blonde man resumed a casual stance and slapped on his glasses again; accompanied by a grin.

"That you do! See you on the field soon!" The crowd groaned in disappointment and dispersed. I had already gathered as much paper as I could and shoved it messily into my bag. The Captain knelt down and picked up my biology text book; a piece of paper fluttered out, he swept that off the floor too. He stared at the graphite scribbles on the paper. Before I noticed his increasingly curious expression it was too late, "what's this?" He looked at me and showed me the paper. I held back a scream and went to snatch it from his grip, he pulled away and I missed, "ah ah… not until you tell me what it is!" he chuckled cheekily. I grumbled and snatched my Biology book from his other hand before standing and walking away. He stood and called after me as I headed to the stairs, "hey! I didn't even catch your name! What about a thank you?"

"Keep it" I carelessly called back. I swear my face would compete for a redder hue with a tomato. I swept up the stairs swiftly trying to cover my expression until I reached my safe haven.

I slammed the door behind me and rested my back against it. I exhaled sharply. Finally.

I stepped away from the wall and dropped my bag somewhere on the floor; it didn't matter really, this place was MINE. No one ever ventured up the stairs and into the last room of the corridor on the left, everyone thought it was abandoned and unused… dusty and old.

Not in the slightest.

This art room was my own secret place that no one knew about except me; I had stolen the key for it off the head of art and music when I first arrived at this University, now over the years I had studied here this room had become mine for whatever I wished it to be. Before I had said I was no biologist, nor an athlete. I had no place in my heart for drama or history. I couldn't write to save my life. I was nothing special… but I bet never in a million years could my brothers ever sketch as well as me. I was an artist; a Knight wielding a pencil, and I was the best… better than both the Vargas brothers and Basch Zwingli put together. Not that anyone knew or cared of course. Those guys were more hobbyists and didn't take art as a subject here. I knew the entirety of the female population at the University through the Art department so I was completely aware of all gossip that circles around the campus.

I stretched my arms and pulled open the large curtain beside my large easel and peered out at the fabulous view I got from this location; there was a reason the arts department was placed on the second floor on the left wing of the campus, because when you looked out the window you could see the green hills of England in the distance… more importantly… I could see the rugby playing fields. I unsheathed my pencils from my pocket and began to sketch on the large A2 notepad mounted on my easel… I was working towards an exhibition in the last week of my time at the University to showcase my work to those attending a masquerade ball for those graduating from their courses and gaining their degrees. Now considering Matthias had shredded most of my sketches from this year I had a lot of work to do in the next coming days.

The pencil ran over the paper like a boat on water; smooth and fluid, my body worked of its own accord when it came to my art… I had no idea what I was doing, it just came.

I turned my head to look out at the rugby playing fields. I frowned. Sure the rugby boys where dressed in white shorts and shirts regardless of the crisp weather and biting cold that England usually had to offer; they looked like white splotches on a green canvas, but there was one idle one. It wandered aimlessly along the side of the field calling out orders and waving his arms about… but he held something in his hand which seemed to be a distraction to him. He…who had become my main subject for art. Anatomy was hard to master; especially when you have a bad disproportionate model like Francis… I would never ask him to be my model again. But the Captain… was perfectly proportionate and well built. It seemed that every sinew in his muscles was carved especially for me for capture in graphite. It most certainly wasn't an obsession! But I feel that if people saw these sketches of him they'd think me stalker-ish and creepy; it was clearly all professional, I promised myself I would never develop feelings for this object. NEVER. I had pictures of him strewn all over this room, all kinds of pictures: Smiling, laughing, shouting, running, jumping, cheering, laying… almost everything. Often I would sit on that window sill and groan to myself because I realised how weird this was. But it was all clearly professional. No strings attached.

The rugby practise was over. The Captain seemed all too eager to dash from the playing fields… and he disappeared into this building. How curious. The Captain of the rugby team who studied only logical subjects running off into the cultural suites. Being the apparent creep that I was I drew the curtains and went to investigate this strange happening.

I wandered down the long corridors and subconsciously looked into each room seeing only the usual occupants; Feliciano Vargas painting some Italian dish with oil paints alongside his brother, Wang Yao trying to copy some European style of art onto his own canvas, Francis being a nude model for the female art students who crammed onto one room together, a lecture happing in the next room about art history… then we moved onto the music suites. The university choir humming their tunes in one room, Roderich Edelstein slamming his fingers down on the keys of a piano in a beautiful harmonious rage, Antonio playing his guitar… nothing out of the ordinary. Then where the heck did the Captain disappear off to? I turned around to head back to my room… then I saw him. I hid behind a corner quickly so that he wouldn't be able to see me. He seemed to be running down the hall and peeking his head in each art room, he poked his head into the one Francis was modelling in, "Ah! Look at this! It is the Hero! Come and join us my friend!" I could hear Francis' voice coo like a paedophilic dove above the giggle of the ladies.

"Uh no thanks… but have you seen that blonde guy you room with anywhere? Shortish in height, pale skin, green eyes, thick eyebrows, very British?" I seethed to myself. My eyebrows weren't that thick! He closed the door unfruitful and sighed. He held the piece of paper in his hand and looked down at it while running his huge palm through his slick blonde hair, "darn…" his thick American accent heavy with disappointment, "I guess I'll never know his name after all…" he pocketed it and disappeared down the stairs.

I didn't follow him. I was glued to the wall I rested myself against; heart pounding harder than a Russian woman kneading dough, I held my chest. He was looking for me. He actually WANTED to know my name. But he was gone now… and he was right… he probably would never know my name.

Later that night I slung my towel over my shoulder and headed to the showers at eleven thirty; I was up late again trying to finish the artwork that Matthias had torn up, I was tired for sleep deprivation, hungry because I missed dinner, angry because my pencil kept snapping and confused…

I lifted my head from these thoughts when I heard something carry on the cold chill of the empty halls. A voice. It resonated between the stone pillars… very faint, "when somebody loves you~…" I stepped closer to the sound as it grew stronger as I walked closer to the rich tone, "It's no good unless he loves you all the way~…" it was a song. Turning down hallways I followed the sound which grew in volume as I continued my path, "Happy to be near you~…" I reached the showers and the sound was as clear as day; steam rose from the door in soft clouds and the sound of water pattering sounded like rain, "When you need someone to cheer you all the way~…" I stepped into the shower room. There was only one shower being used, so there was only one suspect. I tried to be as quiet as my shoes would allow me to, I peered around to the pile of belongings outside the occupied shower. Blue jeans, white T-shirt, half-rimmed glasses. I gasped and slapped my hands over my mouth before it was too late to mask my presence. But it was too late. The singing stopped all of a sudden. I watched the closed shower curtain warily. The water ceased it's flow. I took the fastest action I could and dived into the nearest free shower cubicle and pulled the curtain closed with a completely inconspicuous screech. I held my hands over my mouth as I heard wet footsteps grow closer to this cubicle; I heard the water start again and I took a deep sigh of relief, he had stopped investigating my presence and returned to his shower, "GOT YOU!" I uttered a scream of shock as the Captain pulled the shower curtain back completely and grinned into my face; dripping wet and completely butt naked, I kept my eyes away from that particular area especially.

"HOW THE HELL DID YOU KNOW IT WAS ME!?" I yelled in embarrassment and horror.

"Well I didn't know it was _**you**_… but I knew it was someone hiding in this shower" he laughed at me in my red faced discomfiture, "who would take a shower fully clothed anyway! You'd have to be pretty unhappy with your body bathe in your clothes! Hah!"

"I see you have no problem with your body image though" I snapped turning my gaze to the ceiling. He looked down at his tower of London and made no flinch or reaction, in fact he just laughed at me.

"I don't really care to be honest, I 'll look how I was born to look ya know~" his voice trailed off in the background as I looked down at his bare chest; it was an artist's dream, perfectly proportionate, muscular and the light danced across his sun kissed colour in the most perfect of shades. I swallowed hard and tried to tear my eyes away, which was next to impossible.

"Y-you're breath taking…" I mumbled.

"What?" I snapped back to reality and looked up at his perplexed complexion. I babbled for a while before forcing some form of language from my lips.

"Your singing! It's breath taking!" I most certainly meant every word of what I said. Getting onto that subject made me curious, "I had no idea that YOU of all people had a voice like that… it's amazing" his face dusted with pink. I frowned. Was he blushing?

"Oh! You… really think so?" he scratched the back of his head, "I only sing in the shower… my father hates it" I scowled at him.

"Why? Why would anyone hate a voice like that!? You're better than Glen Miller dare I say it!" the Captain's breath hitched and he gave a stupid smile, "why aren't you in the choir?"

"Are you serious? What do you think the rugby boys would say if they saw their Captain singing in the choir like a sissy girl? Doing scales and forcing smiles!" I was taken back… but was entirely true. He had a point, "why don't you tell anyone you're an artist?" he smugly raised a brow. I grumbled and crossed my arms across my chest.

"Fine. I see your point… but a voice like that…there's something about your voice… something rich and warm like brandy swirling in my chest, an inexpressible heat-" I stopped myself. The Captain stared at me. I was frozen to the back on the cubicle. His eyes didn't move, nothing… not even a flicker. He made me feel so small… like a dog towering over a mouse who had no escape. He stepped into the cubicle and grabbed my arms. He continued to stare at me. At that moment I realised how brilliant his eyes were; they were brighter than a clear blue sky or still ocean, which was seldom seen in England. My heart was now pounding harder like a hammer against my chest. His face was a breath away. He smelled like freshly ground coffee with a pinch of cinnamon, the remarkable scent intoxicated me.

"Do you really mean it?" he whispered. His breath was soft and tickled as it caressed my cheeks which I felt heat up to boiling point; it smelt of peppermint toothpaste, I nodded weakly. He grinned, "wow…" that was the last thing he said for a while, his eyes just continued to roam my complexion, "then it's settled!" he pulled away and I exhaled.

"I'm not sure I understand." I frowned up at the Captain as he placed his hands on his hips and spread an enormous smile across his face.

"I'll sing if you draw!" my chest leaped. Someone wanted me to draw. For the first time in my life someone accepted what I did and WANTED me to pursue it. What's more; the deal was made sweeter by this chap with a golden voice, by granting me the chance to hear his sweet voice again. Without even thinking any further on the subject I blurted out what my mind forced me to.

"YES!" I covered my mouth again and he burst out laughing.

"Great! Then from this moment on we're partners!" a flutter stirred in the pit of my stomach. Partners.

We were partners.

And I still didn't know his bloody name…

* * *

_Song reference:_

_All The Way - Frank Sinatra_


	2. POST SCRIPT - Part 2

_This is no longer a ONESHOT _

* * *

**Post Script**

_Part2_

Sing for me.

Just one last time, that's all I ever asked… was it too much maybe.

I still remember the some of the notes.

But there's something about your voice… something rich; warm like brandy swirling in my chest, an inexpressible heat. I could never describe it… hell I still can't describe it.

But there is something about your voice.

There _was_ something about your voice…

It had been one week.

And this Captain had cursed me with his presence in every single gad damn lecture we took together… which was about three now. It used to be one. Just Biology. But then he decided to sneak into two other lectures of mine for the last weeks…

He replaced the proper model for our art lectures all week; not that the teacher was complaining of course, she was quite delighted to have such a gorgeous and eager model for her class. All the girls were starting to prefer having him instead of Francis; they said that the Captain looked younger and much more attractive, like a superhero in real life. The others boys in our art lectures decided to join me in the back row and mumble complaints and roll their eyes at the females' ovary explosions. The Captain would always look at me when he modelled; his eyes never twitched out of place, he would just stare at me with those soft blue eyes which made my palms sweaty… I had to readjust my pencil a lot more due to the increased amount of perspiration. Sometimes I would concentrate too hard on a certain part of his anatomy and I could see out of the corner of my eye that his face would curve into a smug looking smile, which was too hard to ignore. After that particular lecture he would traipse around behind me like an obedient puppy looking to play and he would rack at my ear drums with questions and stupid opinions that would make my stomach do belly flops, "you knoooww… when you concentrate hard enough that you start frowning and poke your tongue out right?" and I would elbow him in the gut as he would continue to follow me in fits of giggles like a child, "you looked like you were having trouble drawing me today – do you need help?" to which I would reply a stingy NO or SHUT YOUR FACE GIT. Which again would just make him snicker. Our relationship with one another was simply professional. He was just an object to me. A way to get what I want. He was nothing but an object…

I forced him to go to have a conversation with the head of music to see if he could get some quick lessons in singing before the semesters end. He was so nervous… I quite simply had to drag him up the stairs by the collar to stop him from chickening out and running away, "why can't we do this tomorrow! I just remembered I have a big test thing for uh…biology! Yeah it's due in tonight! We'll go tomorrow!" I'd grab him by the jaw and growl.

"I am IN your biology class you dolt! And that's what you said yesterday and the day before! We're going. I've kept my side of the bargain! Now do as you are told!" he moaned and protested the whole way there but shut up instantly when I knocked on the door to the head of music's room. I looked up at him and ruffled his hair, "you can do it. Easy. Naturally" he nodded and shakily entered the office. I pressed my ear against the door and heard every word of the short conversation.

"S-sir I want to sing! If you will have me I-I want to learn music!" he was so nervous and stuttered many times.

"I haven't seen you around here before Mister Jones… come, sit here. Why would someone like _you_ want to be a student of music? Pardon if I offend… but what makes you think you can do this one week before end of the semester? And what makes you think that you'll get in" there was a moment of silence.

"Because someone believes in me. And I believe in them… they make me feel like I can do it. So allow me to show you how I'll make it…" suddenly a thick sound resonated through the door. It crept up the back of my legs and nibbled at my muscles making them tingle, _"~You are the promised kiss of springtime…_" up and up the feeling crept and stirred all that sat in the pit of my stomach; the feeling began to flutter all light and fluffy, I tensed my stomach muscles to ease my pleasurable discomfort, _"~That makes the lonely winter seem long..._" my heart began to beat in synchronization with his voice; beating time heavily, as if it were trying to leap out of my chest and into the music. At this point I rested back against the nearest vertical surface; thankfully a wall, and slipped down it as my legs turned to jelly, "~_You are the breathless hush of evenin-"_

"Stop." The teacher cut him off mid-note. There was a long and empty silence before either of them made an audible sound. I held my breath and clutched my knees to my chest as I heard the door click open. The songbird stepped out with a long expression pulling down the corners of his mouth. My heart stopped. The teacher stepped out behind him and saw me sitting against the wall. He uttered a snort of amusement, "what are you then? His manager?" He glowered at me and I was glued to the wall in shock, "Well then… you've got a lot of planning to do for this guy" he extended a hand to me on the floor and I felt my face twist into an expression of total and utter bewilderment. He pulled me off the floor and shook my hand with a firm grip before turning to the Captain. What did the teacher mean? "Wonderful doing business with you Jones, I hope to see you soon"

"You can count on it sir!" they shook hands firmly and the teacher disappeared back into his office. The Captain turned to me with that humongous grin on his face. I was still trying to get my head around what just happened.

"What the hell happened in there! Tell me! Did you get the okay to get lessons-"

"I AM THE OFFICIAL UNIVERSITY JAZZ BAND SINGER!" He threw his arms around me and he lifted me high off my feet. He jumped and laughed in a golden ecstasy clutching my thin frame to his huge chest like a new porcelain doll given to a little girl as a surprise gift. For a split second I was enjoying this embrace. But then I shook out of it and began squirming in his grasp.

"P-PUT ME DOWN! I AM NOT A TOY!" and of course he didn't listen to my command… in fact he did the complete opposite. He placed his hands underneath my armpits and lifted me high above his head and laughed into my face which was growing increasingly hot. I couldn't handle the feeling in my chest anymore so I pulled his collar and snarled into his now wide-eyed expression, "I said put me down this instant Captain Crooner"

So began the NEW journey of Captain Crooner and Arty Artie…

No longer would anyone refer to him as Captain; except those in his Rugby team of course… that's a given, but from that moment on his name was 'Mister Jones'. Whenever people spoke of the University Jazz Band they would refer to it as _'Mister Jone's Band'…_ I came up the idea to call him Mister Jones.

At first it was a slip of the tongue, only moments before his first performance. It was a large party for old graduates, staff and funders of the University as a sort of reunion. It was a huge event for the University. And for us.

I remember that exact moment.

The crooner was standing in the shadows of side-stage staring at the ocean of faces; dressed in fancy suits and diamonds and pearls with pin-pricked pupils, he was terrified. All of the parents of his Rugby team sat in the audience; all of the funders for the music department, everyone important in London sat in the building. I watched as he shrunk back further into the wing and began to frantically adjust his red tie and buttons of his navy blue jacket; which only just fitted around his biceps and chest, he looked at the floor and bit his lip. I stood a few feet away from him in the wing; just standing with my arms crossed over my brown tweed coat, he refused to go onstage without me standing in the wings with him... and so there I was. I quietly shuffled over to him as the band began to tune their instruments onstage, gaining the attention of every eyeball in the building. I softly elbowed him in the arm his head snapped up to me; terrified icy blue eyes through thick black rimmed glasses, he looked so suave… like a real Frank Sinatra.

"I can't do it..." he whispered harshly through clenched teeth, "I've never sung to real people before!" I rolled my eyes and uttered an exasperated sigh.

"I'm a real person aren't I?" I mumbled softly as I fixed his tie for him.

"You…you're different!" I swallowed hard. I was different. I tried to shake off the blush before I could look at him in the eye again. I looked up at him. Lips pursed. I swiftly snatched his glasses from his nose and breathed on them.

"Am I now?" I raised a brow and polished the lenses on the arm of my coat. I could almost hear his heart racing in his chest from nerves. I placed his glasses gently back on his nose and he adjusted them to his liking, "you'll be outstanding. I don't even need to tell you that you git…" I looked him up and down as a last check for any potentially embarrassing flaws; but I knew I could never find a flaw on this man, it was next to impossible, "…just… pretend you're singing in the shower or something. Take your mind off the audience… they'll be enchanted by you Mister Jones" I straightened his coat and tried my hardest to hide a smirk from my face, "... just like I am" he opened his mouth to say something.

"Jones, they're all yours" the stage manager broke in, nodding towards the stage before returning to his post. He broke into a grin and held my arm; I felt the hot breath of his on my ear as he leant in dangerously close.

"This one's for you" he whispered against my ear. I gulped and he pulled away, jogging onto the stage and into the lights. He turned to the audience and gripped the microphone standing on the stage, "Ladies and Gentlemen I want to welcome you all here tonight! I hope you are all having a fantastic evening, I heard the wine is delicious!" a hum of laughter rose from the audience. This guy quite simply had the most marvellous charisma I had ever seen; he emanated this strange radiance that sucked in the attention of every living thing in the rough proximity, he was truly charming, "I am Mister Jones and this; my friends, is the first number for tonight! Hit it boys!" A wall of sound started and he practically owned the stage with his presence, _"~Have you met this Jones…_" a perfect opening number for the evening an introduction for him and the audience… but he changed the lyrics to suit himself… cheeky bugger, that was never rehearsed, _"~Then I said this Jones… Is a man who understands, you're a girl who must be free…_"

He made many other performances after that over the days that followed… he only became more and more popular as each day passed. The day after his first performance he opened the door for me as we walked into the cursed Biology class. All the students starting clapping and cheering; I almost fell over backwards in surprise, they all chanted and cheered for 'Mister Jones'. He laughed nervously and peered down at me who slunk him a look out the corner of my eye.

There was one problem.

We were walking down the boundary of the University the Sunday morning of the second to last week of the semester; after having gone to a café to grab a coffee and 'Mister Jones' was gifted his order for two coffees for free by the waitress who had heard his crooning. I wasn't complaining… I was meant to be paying. I stepped warily across the pavement twinkling with ice and snow; knowing that someone like me was prone to falling over on slippery surfaces, and I didn't particularly want to fall over upon my partner. PARTNER. Nothing more, "Oi! Cap'n!" we stopped in our tracks and peered behind ourselves and came face to face with the other person besides Jones that I loathed with my whole existence.

"Matt! Fancy seeing you out here!" Jones waved and grinned. But something about the jagged movements of the approaching Danish man told me that he wasn't here to chat. I tugged on the oblivious blondes sleeve.

"I've got a bad feeling about this…" he snorted sarcastically.

"Pah! He's my underling and my friend! What are you so worried about!" Matt and his gang finally arrived and I took a deep breath, "how are you Matthias?"

"Shut your mouth Jones. We are in desperate need of a 'discussion' you moron, so save me the pleasantries damnit!" He growled directly at him. The crooner was completely taken back by Matt's actions, "what the heck is going on with you! Singing!? Are you even serious!?" He scowled and prodded his captain's chest with a finger, "do you know how BAD this makes the team look!? All our oppositions take the mickey out of us because of you! They think we're all sissy girls like you!"

"Now hang on a second Matt-"

"NO! I have had enough of you and your fooling around! You are our Captain! Hot, masculine and tougher than steel! Isn't that what you said!?" Matthias was getting dangerously close to Jones; I could see him clenching his fists inside his leather gloves.

"That was-"

"A joke!? YES! YES YOU ARE! So what's it going to be Jones!? Are you our Captain or are you the Queen of culture hmm?" Matthias turned to me and I jumped at the sudden eye contact, "an you! Don't think I've forgotten you either sleeping beauty…"

"Leave him out of this Matthias!" Jones barked.

"Why should I! He's the one that started all this garbage!" I opened my mouth to snap back but the crooner stepped in front of me.

"It was my choice! It had nothing to do with him! Now leave him alone and get out of here!" Matthias backed up and started chuckling to himself.

"Ahah… this is too precious. You're actually protecting him!?" he started laughing out wildly and clutching his sides, "you've got to be kidding me!" I felt the Captains grip around my hand tighten, "You're protecting a guy who's name you still don't know!" his grip was like a cold vice on my wrist. I winced a little.

"I think you should leave… Matthias…" he slowly forced out between a clenched jaw. He simply laughed and walked closer to us; he leant down to me and stared me directly in the face.

"Why? What are you afraid of Jones? Afraid I'll steal your boyfriend?" he growled and patted me on the cheek, I recoiled at his touch. He gave Matthias a gentle nudge away.

"Get your hands off him" Matthias stumbled backwards over a patch of ice and almost fell over on his back. Looked up at us in shock and I swear I saw him snap. The muscles beneath his coat rippled and he sneered in disgust. I heard gasps and mutterings carry on a gust of wind from the open windows of the University and I turned to the building to see windows opening and students leaning out eager to see this unfold. 'Captain Crooner' versus 'The King' and his crew. This would not be pretty.

"How dare you!" He pushed back at Jones waiting for another response; I knew for a fact that Matthias would never make the first swing, it made him look desperate for a fight. Jones barely moved; but he was angry, I could see the softness in his eyes freeze into an icy hatred. He gave me a glance.

"Come on… we have to go to the cultural suites to pick up sheet music" he pulled at my shoulder and we turned away from the enraged brute, "I'll see you later Matthias…" we began to walk away.

"DON'T WALK AWAY FROM ME!" I felt a force against my shoulder jolting me and spinning me on my heels to face Matthias who then fiercely thrust his hand against my chest; pushing me backwards into the frosty pavement, I watched the sky roll backwards. A sharp pang of pain rattled my skull and I lie on the concrete for a moment to gather my scatted senses… when I lifted my head I was just in time to see Jones' fist collide with Matthias' stomach.

"KEEP YOUR GOD DAMN HANDS OFF HIM!" Matthias tumbled back into his gang who caught him as his face paled and he looked nauseous. Jones turned around and dashed to my side as I leant up and held the back of my head wincing, "are you okay? That was a pretty nasty fall! Are you hurt badly?" the questions ridiculed me as I was far more interested on the opposition who was regaining his stance quickly, too quickly. As soon as the Captain had helped me onto my feet Matthias was already sprinting towards him with another flying fist heading for Jones' face.

"MOVE!" on a whim that seemed like a brilliant idea of the time; I pushed Jones on to the concrete and received the blow for him, a cold leather gloved fist directly to the face.

I don't remember much after that collision. There was an ocean of gasps and a spray of blood… that much at least I remember. A slur of words that were not my own and fuzzy images swaddled in my skull… a blur of colours and voices. A gust of wind rushed through my hair and against my skin and I heard his voice… that enchanting… magnificent voice, "are you stupid!? Why the heck did you do that!?"

"Y-you…" I managed to speak between dizzy spells, "your f-face is more important than mine…" I heard him exhale angrily, "can't be a crooner… with an ugly mug… " I laughed weakly. He didn't sound impressed either way.

It was a long while before I started to see and hear normally again; I blinked a few times before being able to recognize my surroundings, it was dark so that didn't help my vision. I swept the area. The walls were decorated in hundreds if not thousands of sheets of paper; each bearing a series of grey and black images, amongst them were canvases too and torn pages from books. Pencils and paints were strewn across the dark room light only by the light of the moon which streamed in through the large window on the opposite side of the room complete with a window ledge and a large easel with an A2 drawing pad. I stopped. I knew this room. I lifted my head tenderly from the couch I laid on; the couch I moved in here myself in the middle of the night halfway through last year, I knew exactly where I was.

There he was. Standing on the opposite site of the room by the window, his hands in his pockets as he stood staring at the easel; he seemed mesmerised by the graphite on the paper, the moonlight played across his face and haloed his silhouette with a cool white glow. It was perfect. He was perfect. Quietly I reached for the nearest pad of paper and pulled a pencil out of my pocket… and I began to capture this moment in pencil. The soft crinkle of paper and scratch of pencil caught his attention; his head turned towards me and before he could say anything I mumbled, "Don't move a muscle. The light is perfect…" my eyes flicked between the paper and Jones' vacant expression. He turned his head back to where he had it before.

"You artists…" he chuckled softly to himself as he inspected the easels art, "wonderfully strange people…" I cleared my throat as I slipped him a sly look. He smiled softly and tilted his head at the easel.

"What's so captivating about that particular sketch…" I mumbled coldly, adding the shading to the face of the drawing; tracing every feature that made him so enchanting.

"It's of me… from the first time we properly talked… that day in the shower" I nodded preoccupied, "it's like you tried to draw it from memory…"

"I tried" I sighed. I watched him after he looked back the sketch; his expression seemed to morph from intrigued to something I couldn't quite put my finger on, he reached out to the paper and held the corner between his thumb and forefinger. Warily I furrowed my brows at him. He pulled downwards; ripping the drawing in half, I dropped the pencil in shock and leapt up from the couch, "WHAT THE Bloody- agh…" I held my head as the room spun around me, "why did you rip it in half you…you idiot!" He crunched the paper in to a ball in his hands and took a pencil adjacent from the easel before walking over to me. He rested a hand on my shoulder and the other on my head; I frowned a little, why was he acting like this? He was being so strange.

"I want you to do something for me…" he murmured quietly with that rich melodic tone that made me quiver. He took my hand off of my head and he placed the pencil he picked up into my thin cold hands; his palms were so large in comparison to mine and so rough, his fingertips were calloused and hard, "I want you to draw me again…" he leant his head down to my ear; just as he did on his first performance, warm breath tickling my skin and making my poor heart to palpitate like a hammer. His voice trickled out like a slither of water droplets dripping down the side of my neck; almost inaudible, but evocative as ever, "bare" I swallowed down a squeak of ineptitude. He pressed his lips against my ear and I shuddered, "can you do that for me?" shakily I nodded.

"Y-yes" my breath hitched as I felt him smile against my skin.

"Fantastic" I felt a wet warmth graze my ear before he pulled away. I exhaled, "where do you want me?" He smiled as he pulled off his suspenders and began to unbutton his white shirt. I stuttered as he slowly revealed his bare chest; every inch of skin was entrancing to my eyes, all this time I had been looking at his body in graphite and paper… and there it was… real… and so tangible.

"I-I…uhh… I don't mind r-really… um… the window seat, the light is great there" I pointed awkwardly turning away to the couch where I had left my drawing pad. I looked over my shoulder hesitantly as he pulled off the cotton. I held my breath as he started undoing his belt; I wanted to turn away, but I REALLY wanted to see what was underneath. So he lost both his trousers and underwear. I sat on the couch uncomfortably shifting my legs and crossing them over to hide my ultimate embarrassment. He sat against the window seat and turned his head towards me; his blue eyes icy and focussed completely on me, and only me. I looked up and my eyes met with him… stark naked and emanating with an ethereal glow which highlighted and crept into every crevice of his prodigious anatomy. He watched me as I began to press the pencil against the paper, I hesitated at frowned at him, "put your right arm behind your head as if you were running your fingers through your hair…" he smirked and did as he was told. There it was. The perfect image, "splendid, stay right there! It's perfect…" I began to scribble down this breath-taking image.

"You're perfect." I blushed and continued to draw, "when you're done drawing me…" I didn't look up because I was beginning to sweat a little, "I want to draw you too…"

He didn't end up drawing me. He didn't make it to even picking up the pencil…

* * *

_Song Reference:_

_All The Things You Are - Frank Sinatra_

_Have You Met Miss Jones - Frank Sinatra_


	3. POST SCRIPT - Part 3

**Post Script**

_Part3_

Sing for me.

Just one last time, that's all I ever asked… was it too much maybe.

I still remember the some of the notes.

But there's something about your voice… something rich; warm like brandy swirling in my chest, an inexpressible heat. I could never describe it… hell I still can't describe it.

But there is something about your voice.

There _was_ something about your voice…

* * *

"I want you to do something for me…" he murmured quietly with that rich melodic tone that made me quiver. He took my hand off of my head and he placed the pencil he picked up into my thin cold hands; his palms were so large in comparison to mine and so rough, his fingertips were calloused and hard, "I want you to draw me again…" he leant his head down to my ear; just as he did on his first performance, warm breath tickling my skin and making my poor heart to palpitate like a hammer. His voice trickled out like a slither of water droplets dripping down the side of my neck; almost inaudible, but evocative as ever, "bare" I swallowed down a squeak of ineptitude. He pressed his lips against my ear and I shuddered, "can you do that for me?" shakily I nodded.

"Y-yes" my breath hitched as I felt him smile against my skin.

"Fantastic" I felt a wet warmth graze my ear before he pulled away. I exhaled, "where do you want me?" He smiled as he pulled off his suspenders and began to unbutton his white shirt. I stuttered as he slowly revealed his bare chest; every inch of skin was entrancing to my eyes, all this time I had been looking at his body in graphite and paper… and there it was… real… and so tangible.

"I-I…uhh… I don't mind r-really… um… the window seat, the light is great there" I pointed awkwardly turning away to the couch where I had left my drawing pad. I looked over my shoulder hesitantly as he pulled off the cotton. I held my breath as he started undoing his belt; I wanted to turn away, but I REALLY wanted to see what was underneath. So he lost both his trousers and underwear. I sat on the couch uncomfortably shifting my legs and crossing them over to hide my ultimate embarrassment. He sat against the window seat and turned his head towards me; his blue eyes icy and focussed completely on me, and only me. I looked up and my eyes met with him… stark naked and emanating with an ethereal glow which highlighted and crept into every crevice of his prodigious anatomy. He watched me as I began to press the pencil against the paper, I hesitated at frowned at him, "put your right arm behind your head as if you were running your fingers through your hair…" he smirked and did as he was told. There it was. The perfect image, "splendid, stay right there! It's perfect…" I began to scribble down this breath-taking image.

"You're perfect." I blushed and continued to draw, "when you're done drawing me…" I didn't look up because I was beginning to sweat a little, "I want to draw you too…" the scratching of pencil ceased. My bones refused to move; as if I being controlled by a puppeteer who had just cut the strings, the pencil tip snapped. I cleared my throat inadvertently catching the attention of Jones, "is there a problem?" he began to move.

"DON'T!" I yelled at him. He snapped into reality, "move from that spot! I quietened and stood from the seat, "I'm just getting another pencil… this one broke" I looked around frantically, red-faced and sweating nervously. For some reason I could not find any form of drawing utensil anywhere; I rummaged around beneath paper and mumbled obscenities to myself, I swore that earlier that day when I had been working in here that there were pencils everywhere… now there were none, "bloody hell." I cursed beneath my breath.

"Can't you find a pencil?" I cursed all below, above and on the earth as I slowly took a glance over my shoulder. Of course… he held a pencil between his forefinger and thumb, waving it around at eye level with a cheeky smirk growing larger on his face, "so happens I've got one right here…" I groaned and trudged towards his stupid complacent complexion. I reached for the pencil and he pulled it away out of my reach. I glared at him as I caught myself almost stumbling into his body. I reached out again and he released the pencil from the glance; I could hear in tinkle of the floor at his feet, he smiled, "sorry" he stared at me as I began to get annoyed.

"Pick it up Jones" I placed my hands on my hips.

"I would if I could but I can't so I shan't" he gasped and pouted, "I'm not allowed to move a muscle… remember" I clenched my jaw as an innocent grin spread across his face. I closed my eyes hard and reluctantly lowered myself on to the floor; trying as hard as I could to avoid all that should not be revealed as I went, my knees rested on the floor and I felt my hands slide across the cold floor trying to find the pencil.

"I can't find it you git!" I snarled. I felt around for Jones' foot do that I could punch him on the foot for being a complete idiot. Nothing. I wasn't sure whether I should open my eyes and have the potential to be faced with Little Jones Junior or find him to have moved… I continued to fumble across the floor with no vision. I bit the inside of my lip and opened my eyes. Nothing. He was gone. I saw the pencil lying on the floor, "idiot." I choked back some prickling tears and snatched the pencil from the floor and used the edge of the window seat to pull me to my feet. He disappeared… he was gone. The corners of my eyes began to prickle and I sniffed as I rested my hands on the edge of the window seat; I wiped my nose across the back of my sleeve, recoiling in pain as I felt the swelling in my nose begin to bruise. I wiped my eyes and grumbled to myself, "I knew it… I knew it was too good to be true" I exhaled and collapsed into fits of tears which pulled at my chest as gravity tempted me towards the earth.

It was always like this… it was always going to be like this. It was like this with my mother and father, my brothers… everyone I cared about. All I needed to do was close my eyes, and they were gone. My mother and father never paid attention to me anyway; I was the one who always cared, the one who took care of my mother when she fell terminally ill… I was the only one who cried at her funeral. I sat at her bed side and held her hand; she told me to close my eyes and get some sleep, I did as I was told… she was dead when I woke up the next morning. My father jumped into the River Thames not long after… we never found his body. He was taking me on a walk that day; he said he wanted to show me the place where the ships went out to sea, he told me to close my eyes and imagine the big ships sailing down the river… I did as he was told. When I opened my eyes he was gone. Each of my brothers ran away while I was in bed asleep. One by one. Until I was entirely alone.

So it happens again.

I rested my head against the window and felt the heat of my tears condense on the window and fog them; I looked up at the man in the reflection of the glass, his face was slim… tears streaked his cheeks and the area around his nose was turning a purpely hue; I had never been so disgusted in my life, "I hate you…" I sneered at the man who sneered back at me, I was glad the feeling was mutual. As the window continued to fog something caught my eye. I turned to see someone had written on the condensed window the words: **Turn around.** I frowned. In the reflection beside the grotesque man who was frowning a taller image came into view.

I turned. He had re-dressed himself in his trousers and draped his white shirt over his rippling torso. He had heard everything. I gripped the pencil in my sweaty palm tightly a as he stepped towards me; eyes sharp and rapt, I simply watched him as he stared at me with a fixating stare. He pressed his forehead against mine and pressed his bare chest against me; I kept my eyes wide open, I was far too terrified to let him vanish again. A hand wrapped itself behind the small of my back and pulled me closer into his coffee scented warmth; the other wiping away the tears from my cheeks. He said nothing. The only sounds uttered were hitched breaths and shaky sighs; his breath condensing on my skin, peppermint sighs tickling my ear. I felt something tickle my neck and I uttered a small embarrassed moan, I clutched his huge back and gripped his white shirt which slid off all too easily; my hands scrambled at his velvety shoulders, slipping beneath the building sweat. He pulled me harder into his body and my arms refused to let go as I made contact with every inch of his godly flesh. His breathing was becoming more and more sharp as his lips trailed up my neck and across my pathetic excuse for a jawline; he let go of my back and clutched his hands on both sides of my skull and pulled my face until it was a breath away, his lips would not rest against mine… so close yet so far away. It was painful. Why was he holding back. I yearned so badly for the sealing kiss of this man who was supposed to be an object to me; a mere object who was now grinding me into the window seat of my sanctuary, some object indeed. But by god this restriction was driving my head into a cruel ecstasy. We never lost eye contact. I refused to turn away and so did he it seemed. Suddenly he ceased his whetting and between gasps uttered a few raspy words, "I want you" he sighed into my mouth, still refraining from making any contact, "I've always wanted you… from the very moment you showed your gorgeous complexion at this place I've wanted you… so so badly…" he ran his thumbs across my cheeks roughly, "I may not know your name… but I've never been more hooked on another human in my life… and I want you so badly" his eyebrows furrowed and never before had I seen more desperation in the eyes of a living thing before; it reached into my chest and wrung my heart like a flannel, "I _need_ you" his voice strained. My chest juddered as I released a shaky breath beneath his despairing stare. I flicked my eyes quickly down to his lips which looked like soft pink blossom petals floating on a cup of coffee; I quivered in his grip, and for an instant I knew exactly what he wanted and I knew exactly how to satisfy his craving. I nervously leant forward; feeling the tingle of his presence reach for mine, my body wouldn't let me any closer… my lips screamed. He nudged in. An explosion. It felt like all the happiness in the world rushed to my chest and glittered under my skin. It felt like one million fire crackers were set off at the same time and exploded their miasmic spectrum of colours in my head. His lips tasted of cool peppermint and coffee… a winters morning defined in the lips of my once supressed lover. There it was. He slammed a hand against the window behind me and his palms wrapped around my skull bruising his beautiful taste against me, he breathed hard and fast as I nudged into him as forceful as I could; there was nothing stopping us now, I could never refer to him as an object ever again after this moment where our hearts beat in complete synchronization. His tongue traced the bottom of my lips and met mine halfway and he pushed me up against the window itself; my head resting on the glass as he moved his hand from my face down my body and he gripped my hips, crushing me against him. He ground across me long and slow; I broke apart from the kiss is a lengthy moan as he did so, he did this again… and again… learning how to make me call out… he was teaching me how to sing. He was making me sing for him. And sing I did. And thanks to him; I could now most definitely draw his entire body from memory, without flaw.

Morning sprang upon us as a surprise.

I raised my head from the couch pillow woozily and wrenched my eyes open at the room; I took a sharp gasp at the room, the curtain was torn by the window, the easel was upturned, clothes littered the floor along with pencils and splatters of paint. I looked down at my body; I was stark naked, except for the splatters of paint on my skin and the rest of the curtain which was wrapped around me like a duvet. Mister Jones hung on my hips with his face pressed against the small of my back. I blushed. Images of the night before flashed through my memory like photographs. I jumped in fright as he nuzzled into my back and kissed the bottom of my spine, "_good morning~"_ he hummed.

We were more than partners. He was more than an object to me now… and I had to accept that. I had to accept that I was in love with this man… whose name still didn't know.

The graduation ceremony came upon us. I gained my Bachelor of Arts; tied up nicely in a fancy scroll, and Jones finally was awarded his bachelor of Physical education. After what we did that night he should know everything about the human body. There was a party for the graduates and staff to farewell them from the premises and send them off into the world… of course Mister Jones was begged by the staff to sing at this event. So he did. Backstage he was waiting in the wings again. I watched him from where I stood behind the curtain; he smiled at the stage with a grin pasted on his face, he had grown so strong since his first performance, "remember how you felt the first time you performed?" I whispered as I looked at the audience through the side wing nudging him on the arm as I did the first time. He looked down at me and sniggered, "you were so nervous… I had to come over and calm you down" he leant down to me and panted a kiss on my cheek.

"Now all you do is hype me up darlin'…" he gave me a cheeky wink, "this one's for you" he skipped backwards onstage and called out to the audience, "Good. Evening. Audience!" A roar of delight rose from the crowd, "We made it right? We finally made it! Time to get out into the world and make our mark in history! But for now ladies and gentlemen, I am Mister Jones and this is for you!" He pointed directly at me who stood offstage. He looked so pleased with himself, "come on boys!" and with that he started to sing to me, "_I've got you under my skin… I've got you deep in the heart of me~_" he always seemed to pick the most fitting songs to each situation, considering he had quite literally been '_under my skin'_.

There was a rumble.

I thought it was just the drum kit hitting a big bassy drum.

There it was again. Louder this time. The floor started to shake and I looked up at Jones who continued to sing.

The floor shook wildly beneath my feet and I was thrown to the floor; the whole room was screaming and yelling in fright, the glass chandelier snapped and swung delicately by one wire; before snapping and plummeting to the floor, shattering like a thousand drops of rain onto some unsuspecting audience members. Jones stopped singing. The microphone dropped. He dashed over to my limp body lying in the wings of the stage, "are you alright!?" he held my arm tightly and I nodded.

"Yes you git! Quickly get out of the building!" he helped me up and we both dashed out onto the streets of London.

Fire swept the sky and the jutter of plane propellers faded into the distance above the crackle of flames and the shrieks of citizens. The whole city was painted red. Blood and flames. I held my hands over my mouth as Jones clutched me to his chest securely. He called out to a man who was jogging down the street towards our group, "you! What on earth is going on out here! What happened!?" He panted and gasped but forced out some coarse words.

"Planes… bombs… I-I…" he rubbed the man on the back and frowned.

"What? I can't hear you you'll have to speak up!" he shook Jones by the arms with a hideous wild look in his eyes.

"THE GERMANS HAVE BOMBED LONDON!"

That night... Nazi Germany and the Axis Powers declared war upon Europe and the Allied Forces.

Our lives which had seemed so pleasant… plummeted, into the deepest darkest despair.

Everything before that moment, meant **nothing**.

_Everything was about to change... for good._

* * *

_Song Reference:_

_I've Got You Under My Skin - Frank Sinatra_


	4. POST SCRIPT - Part 4

**Post Script**

**_Part4_**

* * *

Sing for me.

Just one last time, that's all I ever asked… was it too much maybe.

I still remember the some of the notes.

But there's something about your voice… something rich; warm like brandy swirling in my chest, an inexpressible heat. I could never describe it… hell I still can't describe it.

But there is something about your voice.

There _was_ something about your voice…

* * *

We had become small specs of dust on the paper in which a new story was to be told; belittled by war, everything before then was meaningless. What would a bachelor of arts matter to me if I were to be dead. What would Jones' singing voice be without a beating heart… our lives had become completely insignificant in comparison to the fate that loomed over us just around the corner.

Every able-bodied man was called to fight for the United Kingdom in the Royal army to serve our Queen and Country as protectors of the nation; the British government started to manufacture morale posters, to apparently keep the spirits high…

"**Freedom is in peril, defend it with all your might"**

"**Your Courage, Your Cheerfulness, Your Resolution Will Bring Us Victory"**

"**Keep Calm and Carry On" **

What on earth were they trying to accomplish? Using words such as peril and telling us to keep calm is only hiding the fact that our country and our lives are in jeopardy! When will be the next time that the city is attacked by the Axis Powers? When will the blood shed come to an end? Will life ever be the same? There were so many questions that remained unanswered and open ended; hanging in the air like red strings without destination, drifting limp in the wind. The government; under the power of her majesty and Winston Churchill, gave us only posters and newspaper articles to reassure us that all will be well… however I beg to differ that that was the case. All I saw the government as was a bunch of pompous rats who scavenged each other's brains for tactics and plans to play their loyal citizens for fools; let them continue their lives as if nothing was happening, as if no man, woman or innocent child was spilling their blood across the streets like water running from a stream.

The struggle lurking around the corner began to trickle its gore through the cracks…closer…closer.

We began to forget our own names. Speaking only of the war and their leaders…

Winston Churchill. Franklin D Roosevelt. Joseph Stalin.

Hirohito. Benito Mussolini… Adolf Hitler.

It became a mantra for me. A daily chant almost. I would sit down at the front window of our favourite café and wrap my slender fingers around the base of an enamel mug; watching the steam waft and swirl out of the cup, muttering the names under my breath.

Winston Churchill. Franklin D Roosevelt. Joseph Stalin.

Hirohito. Benito Mussolini… Adolf Hitler.

Staring languorously into the darkening water; as the tea bag steeped in eddies, seeping maroon through churning waters… enveloping all in its path. The world around me became more and more distant from my window seat as I tentatively glared into my cup. What happens in Germany right now is only the beginning of what is yet to come… the tea bag has only just started to suffuse. First Germany, then Poland… France, Russia, Britain… then the world. Eventually the entire earth will be subject under the deep red stains, and the swastika.

Winston Churchill. Franklin D Roosevelt. Joseph Stalin.

Hirohito. Benito Mussolini… and Adolf bloody Hitler.

At which point a hand would rest itself upon my shoulder and I would snap upwards from my immersion into the face of my life's reason; who would smile down at me like golden rays of the sun amongst a blue sky, caressing my face with soft hands and gentle kisses of warmth… this is all metaphorical of course, "why so pensive?" he'd chuckle as he would take his usual seat next to me. The usual spot, on the usual day, at the usual time… with the usual onlookers, the usual 'Mister Jones' fan girls and the usual window view. I'd look away out the frost capped window at the street; gripping the base of my mug tighter, running my fingers up and down it's smooth surface.

"I'm not" I would mumbled inaudibly into my scarf which cuddled my chin, absorbing my words. At which point his hand would tighten around my thin wrists.

"Hey, " he'd look up at me from underneath his eyebrows; eyes cowering into their sockets, "we're okay…" he'd whisper through a pert smile, then cheekily humming, "_~all the way…" _I'd clear my throat a little and take an embarrassed sip of my mug. The fan girls in one of the booths would then giggle to themselves as Jones continued to hum through mouthfuls of coffee… double shot with a pinch of cinnamon. Giving them sideways glances when I was looking. Cheeky bastard trying to make me jealous… well he was always good at irking me that's for certain. I don't mind any more… regardless he is still an object to me. Just an object. Who so happened to catch me vulnerable at one moment in time… half-naked, beneath the blue moonlight glow, in the art room on every flat surface he took advantage of me… who was provoked by the perfectness of my subject; nothing more than dedication to my art, it was simply some intense anatomy study… Jones is nothing to me. So why does it hurt?

Perhaps it's because he really was the only thing in my life that cared for me. Perhaps it's how he hums while he writes, getting too deep in the music that he starts to write the lyrics instead.  
Perhaps it's how he carries me home and tucks me into bed when I pass out from drunkenness or excessive drawing.  
Perhaps it's how he would nudge the side of my hip when we walk; causing me to stumble to the side a bit, sometimes cheekily pushing me into a wall before sniggering and fleeing from my angry wrath… perhaps… it's how he would lay on the couch of my art studio and hum to himself softly; a sweet low song that warmed the room with its timbre, distracting me as I worked. How I would occasionally peep around the corner of my canvas to find his eyes latched upon me; ensnaring my breath with an intense grasp, a formidable hunger it seemed, I would swallow invisible saliva and hide behind the safety of my canvas… ignoring the fact that he continued to scorch his glare into my presence.

If anyone was wondering about our previous sexual engagement, nothing like that ever happened again. Occasionally he would bring it up with a sly humour; like making a dirty reference to a specific act he performed that night, after turning my face into a similar shade like that of a sheet he would laugh and brush it off as if it meant absolutely nothing to him. But… of course… it did mean nothing. He is an object. I am nothing. Even after we bought a small apartment next to the University and moved in together; it meant absolutely nothing, it became our studio… popular destination for female University students and artists alike. It meant nothing.

But this is beside the point.

World War two has begun and each night citizens of London cower beneath their sheets in the cloak of night; praying they make it through to see the sun of the following day, trembling like a leaf skeleton buffeted by a winters gust. I was no exception of course. Each night after Jones fell asleep in the bed next to me. I waited until I could hear him snoring; I would pull my bed sheets above my head and pull my knees to my chest, I wouldn't cry… I just lay there in a ball, startling at every miniscule sound until the light of morning came spilling through the window. Sleep became too difficult to conjure for me, and so I became increasingly tired and woozy. Until I fell sick. I spent days lying in bed staring emptily at the ceiling waiting for the sickness to pass; but it never did, the days and nights rolled on like an endless curse. Jones thought I was being melodramatic at first and carried on with his daily life without me; sitting at our café by himself, walking down our street by himself, visiting the University's music department alone and all the things which we did hip-tied. To be honest that independence of his lasted for a week. Then he began to get concerned. He would wake up to my muffled moans and sweaty huffs in the night-time after I tried to fall asleep; only to be faced with the most ghastly of night mares, trapped in a tortuous inferno-like dream where all would fail me… where there was death, destruction and despair. Only to be awoken startled in the arms of Mister Jones. Wide-eyed and dripping with sweat I would clutch to his arms; digging my nails into his flesh, I would look up at his face and soak in the image. Absorbing every dip and curve of his complexion calmed my hammering heart into a state of regret; I remember regretting how pathetic I must have appeared to him, shaking and crying like a little girl in his grip. he murmured quietly with that rich melodic tone that made me quiver. He took my hand off of my head and he placed the pencil he picked up into my thin cold hands; his palms were so large in comparison to mine and so rough, his fingertips were calloused and hard. He would his head down to my ear; just as he did on his first performance, warm breath tickling my skin, "hush…" he would cradle my head in his arms and sing into my hair as he rocked me slowly against his chest, _"~There's a somebody I'm longing to see… I hope that he… turns out to be… someone to watch over me…_" plunging deep into his rich voice and feeling it resonate in his chest I began to grow drowsy. I nuzzled into his softly scented skin, _"~I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood… I know I could… always be good… to one who'll watch over me…_"

He continued to stay with me until I fell asleep after that. All the doctors I had been seeing were astounded with the sudden improvements… words could not describe they had said as one checked my temperature, "this is truly peculiar…" I would glance over his white coated shoulder and look to the lingering spirit peering through the doorframe; sighing in relief and smiling softly, he looked pretty tired too… after having spent nights kneeling at my bedside humming sweet tunes in my ears and brushing hair from my face.

My health was on the incline and I began to go about my daily routine with Jones once more. When we went to our favourite café and took our usual seats. The usual spot, on the usual day, at the usual time… with the usual onlookers, the usual 'Mister Jones' fan girls and the usual window view… the people around me smiled in my direction. MY direction. A hand rested itself upon my shoulder and I snapped upwards from my immersion into the face of my life's reason; who smiled down at me like golden rays of the sun amongst a blue sky, caressing my face with soft hands and gentle kisses of warmth… this is all metaphorical of course, "we missed you…"

"Oh" I mumbled inaudibly into my scarf which cuddled my chin, absorbing my words. At which point his hand would tighten around my thin wrists.

He looked up at me from underneath his eyebrows; eyes cowering into their sockets, "_**I **_missed you…" he whispered through a pert smile. I cleared my throat a little and took an embarrassed sip of my mug. Some things never changed.

"You're looking a lot healthier though!" He grinned and took a gulp of his scorching coffee, double shot with a pinch of cinnamon. I looked down at my thinner palms which were regaining their colour; no longer looking like icicles, I clenched my grasp around my cup. He watched me as I did so; as if he were afraid that if I held my cup too tight my fingers would break, like dry twigs or something. I clenched the cup harder and watched his reaction grow more concerned… if anything I was gaining some form of shameless pleasure that he was concerned for my health.

"So what has happened since I've been out of action? Any news on the war?" I reluctantly dismissed Jones from my tight grasp. He caught my gaze before stammering. Stuttering? Jones never stuttered.

"Nothing much at this stage… more motivational posters have been released to keep morale, but they don't do much y'know. People don't want to hear what's good… they want to know who's suffering" he appeared to be dazed at something. So unlike him. His blue eyes were clouded this morning and he allowed to let his mind to wander aimlessly, "who's hurting… bleeding…" he paused for a moment, "dying" I frowned at this sudden solemnness in his behaviour. It were as if he were possessed. He blinked twice and smiled again, "but what does it matter" I warily pressed my mug to my lips. He clicked his fingers in epiphany, "oh! I met a girl!" I choked. Swallowing the scorching mouthful of tea I began to cough wildly into my arm. Jones patted my back almost instantly.

"Y*cough* Y-you what!?" I managed to splutter. He looked guilty as hell. Bloody well should be too. He began to stammer again.

"I met a nice girl! That's all!" I felt a certain emptiness begin to chip away at the base of my stomach; each tiny chisel eating away at me. Hesitantly I glared out the window at a poster far off in the distance and mumbled.

"Right…" Jones seemed to be completely unfazed by this. I swear he was so bloody oblivious sometimes you could hit him over the head with a brick and he still wouldn't budge.

"You're going to love her! Honestly! She's the sweetest gal! Her name's Vera Lynn, I met her a while ago at one of the University's functions and we talked for ages about each other's singing careers! I could listen to her sing all day I swear…" he clasped his hands in between his knees and began to swing on his chair like a bloody six year old; he was so preoccupied with his fuzzy love-bug that he couldn't see me seething underneath my eyebrows and clutching my mug desperately, " seriously! She's so funny, smart, kind, talented and so god damn beautiful-" the mug slipped from my grasp and toppled over on the table surface. I gasped in fright as the boiling liquid trickled onto my trousers and through my shirt; burning my chest, I made no advancement to move from my seat. Jones threw his arms up and exclaimed, "agh! What the heck!" I stayed seated. Frozen with shock, "what the hell was that for?" he grumbled making a huge scene; attracting the attention of the whole café. I tried to explain but no words would come out of my mouth; I babbled like a fool, "jeez! What's gotten into you?" finally my brain remembered how to create sentences and I retaliated in a most unseemingly fashion.

"I could say the very same about you!" I barked back. Jones leant in closer to me in disbelief.

"What? What do- Ohhh! I know what this is about!" he chuckled and pushed his glasses up his nose-bridge, "just because I start spending time with someone other than you now doesn't mean you can get all high and mighty about yourself!" I scoffed. What the hell was he talking about? It sounded as if he were making his own assumptions here; and I was growing more furious by the second.

"Excuse me!?"

"Yeah! I get it now! You're jealous!" I exhaled, finally. I saw what he was doing; of course I was jealous, but he was doing all of this for show… getting more attention from the café audience that watched with a keen eye as Mister Jones had a fight with his manager; the diva in him had finally sprung to play, "Now that you've graduated you don't have anyone else anymore do you? It's just me. It's always been just me!" He whispered heatedly; pointing a finger at me under a piercing stare. I rubbed my forehead.

"You've got to be kidding me…" I was just so embarrassed for HIM. I cared not for myself but he was going to make an ass of himself if he continued this argument like this, "you're making a scene…"

"So what? Don't you like making a scene mate?"

"I don't know what you mean" I really had no idea what he meant. He smirked.

"That time Matthias Kohler pushed you over and you fell over? You didn't have to leap in and take the hit for me but you wanted the attention didn't you? Didn't you!?" He was yelling now. I refused to recoil in to my seat. This was not new to me; I was used to being yelled at for unfair causes, "then I had to pick you up like a little princess and carry you to your castle didn't I?" I had to stop him. He was going too far… and I remember exactly what happened that day.

"Jones…"

"Oh you remember exactly about THAT day don't you mate… when I carried you into your little sanctuary-"

"Jones."

"-with all your drawing equipment laid out nicely. Ready to lure me-"

"Jones!"

"Into your god damn sex trap! YOU LYING MOTHER FU-"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP SHUT UP!" I screamed and held my hands over my ears. Then I felt it. There was a sharp crack; a snap, and a fragment of my heart fell… down… down… until it shattered.

It was breaking.

At that moment Francis entered the café having seen the argument unfold outside looking in the shop window, "what on earth is going on here!" I held my hands against my ears. I heard silence. I refused to hear his voice anymore. I didn't want to hear Jones speak. I couldn't stand another word. I saw him turn to Francis who was frowning at the whole situation. Francis looked at him; then at me, then back at him… disgusted. Francis removed his big blue jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders; he glanced down at me from the corner of his eyes, "give it a rest won't you Jones… one war is enough for all of us" my eyes favoured the ground over Jones' hostile sneer.

"So be it" I he growled and I heard his footsteps scatter out the café door as the bell tinkled; it slammed behind him, and Jones was gone. I waited a few seconds before tearing my eyes from the ground. Everyone in the café watched me with huge eyes; resembling fish lying on a fish mongers stall, wide eyed and open mouthed.

"Arthur" the Frenchman stood over me. Eyebrows furrowed into a fretful frown; where he came from and why he was passing by this café I would never know, but I would have to thank god for making him… I hadn't seen Francis since graduation. Which proved my partnership with Jones had become an obsession. I was addicted, "what really happened?" I turned to the mug lying lengthways beside me.

"I-it was an accident…" I sighed, "the cup merely slipped from my fingers and spilled everywhere…" I shook my head towards the cashier woman who had given us the drinks for free, "I am so sorry miss, I'll try not to be so clumsy next time" the woman shook her head and scuttled over to me, fussing over my shirt.

"Please Artie. It is not your fault at all, we'll get this sorted… just go home and relax won't you dear?" she dabbed the front of my shirt with a cloth. The woman stopped for a moment and hesitated before speaking, "we… we're all here for you…Artie. We all care for you" she turned to the other kitchen staff who nodded sincerely, "forget what Jones said… he's just being a down right fool. It's not him we like to see every day after all" she squeezed my hand before looking up to Francis, "keep him safe won't you?"

"Oui, I will" he nodded as the woman returned behind the counter and everyone turned in hushed mutterings, "come on… I'll take you to my house"

Francis took me into his care. Setting up the couch as a bed for me with woollen blankets and plush cushions to rest my head. His house was big and grand; inherited from his parents, it was their British holiday house turned Francis' party haven. There were few rules in this house, which were followed very strictly and made crystal clear: No recreational drug usage. No using Francis' bed without permission. If you finish the alcohol you must replenish it. You break it you replace it. Never interrupt Francis with a female companion EVER. Knock before you enter. Do not urinate, vomit or excrete on anything that is not the toilet. Do not have sexual relations on the dining table.

It seemed simple enough for me. I was gone most of the time anyway; visiting the University to make use of the art facilities, the teachers didn't mind… in fact they bought most of the artworks I created. I was making a tidy sum of money from my art in the following days; many people were interested in hiring me for portraits, I was becoming quite popular in the arts scene. My most popular works never changed though. Young girls would hand me cash in exchange for a sketch of the great 'Mister Jones'. I didn't hesitate to hand them away. Good riddance.

Not long after Jones released his first vinyl. It was a best seller. 'Mister Jones and The Boys' featuring Vera Lynn. Francis was mailed a parcel addressed to me; opening it I saw it was a signed copy of his vinyl, accompanied with a photograph of himself in a recording studio which was also signed "All the way – Love Mister Jones and Vera Lynn" what kind of a sick joke was this. All the way. Either he was referring to the song… or… that Vera and himself had sexual interactions. I gave the vinyl and photo to the woman who owned the café as a gift; she was delighted and framed it on the wall, I hoped Jones walked into the café and saw it hanging there. I wanted him to know that he was not forgiven… never forgotten.

There was a call to war. The army was running short on troops. A letter was sent around to all men, "serve your country in Army. Britain needs you now! Enrol today" Francis ran his eyes over the letter before collapsing back into the couch. I held a cup of tea. He rubbed his temples, "to serve in the army? That's a huge ask…"

"Give it here…" he handed me the paper. I skimmed the smudging ink and found a loophole, "look here! Those with human science University degrees should enrol to be a nurse to wound the sick and injured. You have a degree in Biology and Biochemistry don't you?" Francis looked up in joy.

"Oui! Oui! I do! Ahhh! I knew it would come into use SOME day!" he stopped mid-sentence, "but… as much as I know about the viruses and how to cure them… I know nothing of anatomy…" he gave me a sideways glance. I smiled to myself, "now where will I find someone who is smart enough that they can recreate perfect proportioned anatomical sketches?"

So it happened. Francis and I attended the enrolment station the very next day; along with thousands of other men, wanting to serve the army and navy. Long lines of men scattered the streets, like penguins marching together. The queues were packed so densely it appeared to be a clump of testosterone; I clamped Francis' arm as not to lose him as we were battered around as sheep being herded into the correct pen, men pushing, laughing, standing in silence… every type of human you could ever witness in your life stood in this sea of faces. Plump, willowy, wizened, ripe, native, ethnic, white, tan… every race of human it seemed walked this line, "name" A deep resonant voice spoke up at Francis and I.

"Francis Bonnefoy, Graduate of London University in Biology and Biochemistry" the man looked up at him and nodded.

"Excellent, we need as many as we can get" he began to scribble down on a sheet of paper all of Francis' details.

"Alfred Franklin Jones" I froze. I wrenched my neck to the left reticently; feeling my body try and restrict this movement, that voice. There's something about your voice… something rich; warm like brandy swirling in my chest, an inexpressible heat. I could never describe it… hell I still can't describe it. But I could recognize it in a heartbeat, "Graduate of London University with Bachelor of Physical Education" they pierced me. The icy blue wrung my delicate heart and strained my voice. I had never known his name until this very moment… in such an unpleasant circumstance. He stared at me. I stared at him.

"Name" I snapped out of the trance, but never forgot the fact that his presence lingered.

"Arthur Kirkland" I looked back at Jones whose mouth was now slightly open. He looked stunned. What was so bloody interesting? Foolish lout. His moronic complexion was so entirely loathsome that I feel even the Queen would have to turn away in pity for the idiotic creature; his glasses were slipping down his nose, his eyes ensnared onto me with a certain emotion that I could not pinpoint. Eyes sharp and rapt, I simply watched him as he ogled at me with a fixating stare; latched upon me; enmeshing my breath with an intense grasp, a formidable despair it seemed… he was suffering.

"**People don't want to hear what's good… they want to know who's suffering" he appeared to be dazed at something. So unlike him. His blue eyes were clouded this morning and he allowed to let his mind to wander aimlessly, "who's hurting… bleeding…" he paused for a moment, "dying"**

"Excuse me?" I snapped back to the officer who was trying so hard to get my attention. I sneered at Jones in disgust and turned to the officer.

"My apologies. Graduate of London University with Bachelor of Arts, majoring in Art Sketching Anatomy" the soldier looked up at me.

"So… Do you want to be in the Navy or the Army?" I swallowed.

"ACTUALLY!" Francis cut in, "he wants to assist the doctors by making anatomically correct sketches of each patient! Don't you think having sketches of each patient locating each organ and muscle precisely would assist in pin pointing infections and sicknesses?" I tried to listen out for Jones.

"Army. Front Line" my grip on Francis' arm squeezed like a vice.

"I see… well I'm sure we'll find a place for you in our hospital wards somewhere Mister Kirkland" I nodded absently, "since you're here, may I just say that our family loves your work. We have it framed in our dining room" I could see that Jones was now listening in on our conversation.

"Oh really? That's fantastic thank-you! Which works?" The soldier rolled his eyes and chuckled.

"Pfft! The ones of Mister Jones of course!" Not what I was expecting, "Word in the barracks is that you and Mister Jones had a huge fight…"

"You could say that"

"So… if ya don't mind me asking… what actually happened between you two?" I took a deep breath and contemptuously shot Jones a sideways glance; with such intensity that it could kill a thousand men.

"Things got complicated" Jones face dropped. His blinked his eyes quickly and pursed his lips; all the colour in his face appeared to fade, as if all the colour in his body spilled from his shoes onto the floor in a puddle around him… his face a ghastly shade of white. I swear if I listened hard enough I could hear the plips and plops echo inside his hollow frame; where pieces of his heart gradually broke off and cascaded into the pit of his stomach, sounding like raindrops dancing on the surface of a pond. His blue eyes became overcast and dulled with the dense cloud; soon it would begin to rain, I hoped it would pour heavily when it did.

"I see… well here you go. It's got all the information you need. You and your friend should follow that corridor there on the side and turn right at the end of the hall, that's going to be the hospital ward. God bless you men" I nodded and took the papers from him.

"And to you too sir" Francis and I walked briskly in the opposite direction to Jones… who headed to the barracks. I could hear him calling my real name; above the roar of men's laughter and murmurs, his voice flew above all the rest. He tore away from the crowd and began to follow us; I didn't need to turn around to see that he was traipsing after me, just as he once did when we were at University… he would always follow me. Wherever I went he followed; like an obedient puppy, now unfortunately I had to kick the dog out of my house and ignore it's high pitched howls. Footsteps began to quicken.

"Arthur! That's your name isn't it! Arthur Kirkland!" I could hear the strain in his voice; it was twisted to sound like a cry of joy, riddled with a struggled refrain.

"Walk faster" Francis nudged me forward. My legs were slowly turning into spaghetti strands as we increased our pace. My breathing started to become shallower. It were as if some unearthly force had wrapped it's hands around my chest and squeezed with all its might… only getting tighter. My breaths resembled small hiccups. I slowed down and clutched my chest in anguish.

"I…can't breathe" I muttered to Francis. He turned away to two security guards who conveniently stood alongside the corridor.

"Excuse me men, but we are being pursued by that man there" he pointed at Jones who now jogged towards us, "he needs to go to the barracks."

"Of course sir" He was becoming dangerously close but the guards turned to Jones just before he could lay a hand on me. I didn't want to turn around. I didn't want to see his face again. I felt his out stretched finger tips' presence reach for my back, so close… yet so far away.

"Arthur!" He yelled as the guards pushed him backwards down the hall; his voice like the shrill crack of lightening permeating the thick rumble of thunder, wrenching it's fingers between thick black clouds heavy with water.

Soon it would begin to rain. I gasped and knelt to the ground. It hurt. It hurt so god damn much.

"Off to the barracks with you mate" one of the guards said as he grabbed one of Jones' flailing arms. I kept my back turned as I coughed and attempted to take deep breaths; my lungs refused to intake oxygen, as his yelled became more desperate.

"Arthur Kirkland! I know you can hear me! Arthur! ANSWER ME!" his voice became more and more distant; a mere whisper above the ocean of men, a slither of an echo riding upon a breath of wind.

Until it was heard no more.

_So it began to rain…_

* * *

HISTORICAL REFERENCES

_Winston Churchill – Allied Forces Leader (Britain)_

_Franklin D Roosevelt – Allied Forces Leader (America)_

_Joseph Stalin – Allied Forces Leader (Russia)_

_Hirohito – Axis Powers Leader (Japan)_

_Benito Mussolini – Axis Powers Leader (Italy)_

_Adolf Hitler – Axis Powers Leader, Head of Nazi Party and Chancellor of Germany (Germany)_

_Vera Lynn – British Singer (Known for songs such as 'We'll Meet Again' and 'The White Cliffs of Dover')_

* * *

SONG REFERENCE

_All the Way – Frank Sinatra_

_Someone to Watch Over Me – Frank Sinatra (Written by George Gershwin)_

* * *

Sorry it's been a while guys - school exams are coming up so I won't be updating regularly or very much in the next weeks and then I'm off to Cambodia on December the 7th for 2 Weeks.

After December 7th I'm afraid you can't expect me to update until very late December or early January probably... so sorry :(

I'll try and finish this story before that time though :)

-Review-Favourite-Follow

_~Pockethero _


	5. POST SCRIPT - Part 5

**.Post Script.**

_ .Part 5. _

* * *

Sing for me.

Just one last time, that's all I ever asked… was it too much maybe.

I still remember the some of the notes.

But there's something about your voice… something rich; warm like brandy swirling in my chest, an inexpressible heat. I could never describe it… hell I still can't describe it.

But there is something about your voice.

There _was_ something about your voice…

* * *

"Arthur!" He yelled as the guards pushed him backwards down the hall; his voice like the shrill crack of lightening permeating the thick rumble of thunder, wrenching it's fingers between thick black clouds heavy with water.

Soon it would begin to rain. I gasped and knelt to the ground. It hurt. It hurt so god damn much.

"Off to the barracks with you mate" one of the guards said as he grabbed one of Jones' flailing arms. I kept my back turned as I coughed and attempted to take deep breaths; my lungs refused to intake oxygen, as his yelled became more desperate.

"Arthur Kirkland! I know you can hear me! Arthur! ANSWER ME!" his voice became more and more distant; a mere whisper above the ocean of men, a slither of an echo riding upon a breath of wind.

Until it was heard no more.

"Alfred"

My eyes shot open.

It was black. The windows had been covered tightly with black fabric; every door had been sealed, I laid in a void. Sirens outside the walls became a muffled hum; they seemed distant, there was no air raid in London tonight. The smell of alcohol lingered on my clothing like a cruel reminder of the days that were yet to come; sleepless nights stained in blood and echoing cries of pain, a sound far more petrifying than any siren… the shrieks of one whose heart had broken. I couldn't even begin to imagine the number of soldiers that would perish on the battle front; how many I would watch die in a hospital bed, while their family and friends sat at home twiddling their thumbs waiting for their husband or daddy to come home. Little would they know that daddy would be clutching his face as poison gas roasted his eyeballs until they dropped out like raisins. Wives lying beside a memory as the husbands lie beside corpses; packed tightly for miles like fleshy stepping stones, the faces that were once pert and handsome, rotting and putrefying… unidentifiable. How many men would die?

I inhaled the alcoholic stench; hoping desperately that it would knock me out again, as it had done earlier that night, and the night before… and the night before that… and every night that week. I hated alcohol. It tasted like anaesthetic and stung my throat when I knocked it back. I hated alcohol. My fingers reached out beside the couch and fumbled around until they touched some cold glass; wrapping my fingers around the vodka bottle I brought it up to my face and sighed, tipping it back until the foul liquid trickled into my dry mouth. My stomach wrenched and I started to cough wildly. My throat burned as if I had swallowed acid. What I had taken wasn't nearly enough to knock me out again. I cursed under my breath and let the bottle slip from my hand back onto the floor.

It was the same thing every day since Francis and I signed up for the hospital care; I would wake up with a terrible migraine in the afternoon, get up shower, vomit, shower again, eat something, throw away the empty bottles, buy new bottles, go back to Francis' house, be scolded by Francis, try and draw, think of Alfred, drink, think of Alfred, drink some more, get angry, drink…drink…drink… pass out. Then it started all over again. No matter how much alcohol I drank I simply could not wash the stinging sensation Alfred's name left upon my lips.

"Alfred" I muttered softly. Somehow it didn't sound right, "Alfred" two syllables, "Alfred" two vowels, "Alfred" and four consonants "bollocks" not matter how many times I would say it or hear it just didn't seem right. I paused in my thoughts, "Jones" there we go. A smile twitched at the side of my lips. There's the name I knew. The name I thought I knew…

How was it that I never knew his real name until now? How come it was now that I had finally met the real man? Why had I not asked for his name long before any of this happened…

I didn't want to.

For this reason exactly.

"Alfred" the smile faded. It wasn't right.

Jones was my friend. Alfred was a stranger to me.

Suddenly light enveloped the room and I closed my eyes tightly closed; it stung, my brain shivered inside my skull as the black fabric was torn away from the windows. I moaned.

"Get up" a voice barked. I shielded my eyes before taking a peek at the real world. A figure was tearing down all the fabric from the windows and letting light into the living room; it was then I realised how many bottles of cheap alcoholic beverages lay around my couch bed, they clinked as I wriggled underneath the woollen blanket.

"Bugger off" footsteps raced towards me and ripped the blanket out of my grasp. The bottles on the blanket tumble dot the floor with high pitched tinkles; Francis stood above me sneering, he looked disgusted.

"It is two o'clock in the afternoon. Get up now!" I rolled over into the couch pillows and groaned. He grabbed two empty bottles off the floor and started hitting them against each other in my ear and shouting, "I DON'T CARE IF YOU HAVE A HEADACHE NOW GET UP YOU LAZY PIG!" I clutched my ears and yelled back.

"Fine! I'm up! I'm awake!" he dropped the bottles on my back, "I don't remember doing this to you when you passed out almost every night in University…"

"I'm surprised you remember anything! I did warn you that if you carried on drinking like this that I would be unsympathetic with you" he folded up the blanket and continued his previous engagement, "clean up your mess. We have visitors coming tonight"

"What?" I shot up off the couch, "If I knew we had people coming I wouldn't have drank last night!" I grumbled and rubbed my eyes.

"No you wouldn't have" he was right. I would have knocked myself out regardless, "you this was coming up! I've been arranging it for weeks!" he rushed around the room checking and double checking what was clean and what was not. I shook my head. I recalled nothing of this arrangement, "the soldiers dinner? DO YOU NOT REMEMBER ANYTHING!?" he threw down the blankets at his feet and yelled at me from across the room. I winced and held my pulsing head. He groaned and ran his hands through his hair exasperatedly, "well… if you're going to do anything to help me step up for this prestigious event why don't you throw out those damn bottles and clean yourself up" he tutted and continued bumbling around the huge house; sweeping, polishing and making sure there weren't any items of women's clothing hanging about.

Tonight was most indeed a prestigious event. Every soldier enrolled in the British military forces was invited as a sort of farewell party before they were packaged up and shipped off to Germany. The army was frantically looking for a venue to hold this event and Francis' family home was huge, well-decorated and could easily hold more than one thousand people; his family were very well off and the army offered him a handsome pay for renting his house for the night, so he really had it made. It was roughly three thirty that same day when the catering staff began to arrive and set up the food and entertainment. At that point I had stepped out of the shower; after scrubbing furiously at my alcoholic skin trying to remove the stench, wearing nothing but a good old towel. I wandered over the drawer that Francis let me keep my clothes in and pulled it out; I pulled out all the stained and crinkled shirts and trousers that reeked of late nights at smoky pubs, I grumbled as a pile of unclean clothing began to pile up at my feet, "I swear I had nicer clothes than this!" I muttered under my breath scrunching up yet another stained shirt.

Then I saw it.

Folded neatly at the back corner of the drawer; hiding in the shadows and dust, a brown tweed coat and red tie. I made no advancement to take it out; I just hung back and watched it stare at me… it seemed to say, "What? Don't you remember me?"

**The crooner was standing in the shadows of side-stage staring at the ocean of faces; dressed in fancy suits and diamonds and pearls with pin-pricked pupils, he was terrified.**

Reluctantly I reached into the drawer, "of course… I remember you…"

**I watched as he shrunk back further into the wing and began to frantically adjust his red tie and buttons of his navy blue jacket; which only just fitted around his biceps and chest, he looked at the floor and bit his lip.**

"How could I forget…"

**I stood a few feet away from him in the wing; just standing with my arms crossed over my brown tweed coat, he refused to go onstage without me standing in the wings with him... and so there I was. I quietly shuffled over to him as the band began to tune their instruments onstage, gaining the attention of every eyeball in the building. I softly elbowed him in the arm his head snapped up to me; terrified icy blue eyes through thick black rimmed glasses, he looked so suave… like a real Frank Sinatra.**

"ARTHUR!"

"AGH!" I screamed in fright as Francis slammed open the door; my hands quickly held up the towel which nearly slipped down, Francis tried to ignore it, "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING IN HERE GET OUT!"

"This is my bedroom!"

"JUST GET OUT!" I threw a comb at his head and it bounced onto the floor by the door.

"Ouch! I'll go I'll go! Just stay in here for the next hour okay? Don't come out!" he rubbed his head and slunk out the door.

"Yes fine now go away!" Francis snickered.

"Nice legs white boy"

"GET OUT THIS INSTANT!" I threw another hair brush at the door as it closed. Exhaling I returned to the neatly folded clothing lurking in the back of the drawer; the jacket seemed to peer up at me disdainfully, whimpering about all the great moments I once had… all the great things that made me happy… all the great things that had disappeared. Just like everything else in my life. Gone. At least I had one thing I thought lifting the jacket from the drawer and holding it delicately in both hands. The prickly fabric still felt crisp from the last time I ironed it back in University days.

I ran my thumb over it.

_"~My funny valentine… sweet comic valentine…"_ a thick voice came echoing from the back of my skull; filling my brain with a heavy nostalgia, like wine was welling in my brain and intoxicating me. I began to hum along with the memory as I dropped my towel and began to dress myself, _"~you make me smile with my heart… your looks are laughable, un-photographable…"_ I pulled on my trousers and began to sing the words quietly to myself.

"~_yet you're my favourite work of art…"_I chuckled as the lyric was almost ironic. My voice wasn't rich and wholesome like most men's… it was lighter and as my brothers described it: more feminine. I never sang. Ever. But I had my isolated moments, _"~is your figure less than greek…"_

_"~Is your mouth a little weak…"_

"~_When you open it to speak… are you smart?"_ I buckled up my trousers as my voice began to drift louder in volume unintentionally. My voice was like a sparrows song; merry and nimble, it danced on a breath of wind as a blossom did… rather than resonate like that of a bell being struck.

_"~Don't change a hair for me…"_

_"~Not if you care for me…_" I sung into Francis' mirror, making sure the trousers still fitted snugly. I looked up into the reflection. I let out a gasp.

"~_Stay little valentine, stay!_" my eyes were locked with the image in the mirror; standing behind me like a shadow on the far side of the room, opening and closing his mouth as if he were the one singing…but of course. He was, _"~each day is valentine's day…"_ he was singing. He stopped.

Standing on the opposite site of the room by the window, his hands in his pockets as he stood staring at me; he seemed mesmerised with a despondent curiosity, the twilight played across his face and haloed his silhouette with a warm glow. It was perfect. He was perfect. And I hated it, "how the hell did you know it was me…" I mumbled coldly.

"Well I didn't know it was you… but I knew there was someone hiding in this room" he laughed weakly at me in my pale faced discomfiture; but then he looked almost as uncomfortable as me, considering I was standing shirtless in front of him… shrinking into my own chest. I swallowed hard and tried to tear my eyes away, which was next to impossible "Y-you're breath taking…" he mumbled. I pretended that I didn't hear it. I tried to snap out of reality and forget my reddening complexion. He stammered and turned his chin into his chest and whispered, "I-I mean… your singing is breath taki-"

"Please." His head snapped up. His moronic complexion was so entirely loathsome that I feel even the Queen would have to turn away in pity for the idiotic creature; his glasses were slipping down his nose, his eyes ensnared onto me with a certain emotion that I could not pinpoint. Eyes sharp and rapt, I simply watched him as he ogled at me with a fixating stare; latched upon me; enmeshing my breath with an intense grasp, a formidable despair it seemed… he was suffering. I knew what he wanted me to say… I knew what I wanted to say, "don't speak" he released a crestfallen sigh; shaky, riddled with disappointment.

"No" I swallowed my words. He glanced at me from below his eyebrows; a piercing glare, that would have made a child cry for their mother, "let me explain"

"There's no ne-"

"PLEASE" he barked. Jones' voice was strained, "just let me talk" regardless he is still an object to me. Just an object. Who so happened to catch me vulnerable at one moment in time… half-naked, beneath the blue moonlight glow, in the art room on every flat surface he took advantage of me… who was provoked by the perfectness of my subject; nothing more than dedication to my art, it was simply some intense anatomy study… Jones is nothing to me. So why does it hurt? Why did it hurt, "I know I hurt you, I said things that didn't need to be said… things that weren't true. I was foolish, naïve and couldn't see that what I was doing was so wrong… I wasn't myself" I watched him as he pulled his hands out of his trouser pockets and ran his fingers through his hair, "You're… not a liar…"

"I know" I replied bluntly.

"I know you know!" He snarled, "that's not what I'm trying to say…" he groaned and looked up at the ceiling, "I know what I'm trying say! I've been thinking about it every day since I walked out that café without you! Why can't I say what I wanted to with you!" he clutched his head in frustration.

"If it's any consolation" I mumbled, "I forgave you a long time ago" he gasped and dashed up to me; like a puppy given a new toy to play with, his eyes were wide… wide enough that I could see the red rimming his eyelids. Someone had not been getting much sleep it seemed… but why?

"Really!? You have!" I made no move. He almost grovelled at the pit of my gaze; he looked pathetic, I sneered.

"Doesn't mean I have forgotten what you did" the smile slowly slipped down his chin; melting like wax, "I haven't forgotten any of the things you've done to me. Regardless of whether you helped me pick up my books, or modelling for my art, or you took care of me when Matthias threw a pun- none of that matters! You were not the man I heard singing in the shower…and…" I shook my head at the man who was sliding down my legs and collapsing on his knees; peering up at me as if I were the judge and he were the guilty, "I think you should…leave…" there was a moment of silence. A beat. His large palms clutched the cuffs of my trousers; pressing his face against my ankle, his face was hot and wet. The tears were pathetic. He was pathetic. But then he said it…

"I love you Arthur"

Gravity collapsed. Silence amplified. Breath became scarce. It turned cold… until I was numb.

Three words squeezed between his teeth; forced out by my name, which shoved and pushed from the back of his tongue. Three words that ghosted through my ear drums. Three words… that made me sick.

My body tilted onto my heels before rocking back and regaining proper stance. My stomach wrenched like a wet flannel. I was going to vomit. My lungs screamed for air. My mouth parted slightly… as if I were going to say something. Then I sealed my lips; to listen to the sound of Jones' breathy cries, digging his nails into the carpet beneath me.

There was but one word to describe this heap grovelling at my feet, like a pile of wet clothes slumped on the floor. Regardless of whether he said he loved me, he really was… pathetic.

I frowned down at the teary mess; who was pleading and beseeching at my toes, his face resembled that of a snotty child… flushed with red and slick with salty tears. I shook my head, "what have you done Jones…" he snivelled and wiped his nose on the back of his hand, I don't think he fully understood what I was going to say, "what the hell have you become…" I could hear him swallow hard and grit his teeth as I mumbled unmercifully between pursed lips, "look at yourself… a snivelling fool…" my eyes flicked between his eyes and his full face, "dare I ask you if you mean what you say…" he opened his mouth to retaliate, "but! If there is even an inkling of the man I once knew… and loved, inside of this mess… I politely ask him to leave" my voice nothing more than a whisper; grainy and hoarse from restraining a cry of despair, and longing for a memory of a man. I squeezed my eyes closed, "… and I trust he will do so." There was a quiet rustle of clothing; followed by a quiet click of a door opening, it was silent for a few seconds… did he leave the door open? I thought as the silence stretched farther and farther. It was like this… it was always going to be like this. I would close my eyes and suddenly everything I cared for would be gone… just as before. I waited. Eyes closed. I waited.

Suddenly he pressed his forehead against mine and pressed his chest against me; I kept my eyes tightly closed, I was far too terrified to see his face again. I stood strong, yet I yearned so badly for the sealing kiss of this man who was supposed to be an object to me; a mere object, but by god this restriction was driving my head into a cruel ecstasy. I couldn't give in.

"I want you" he sighed, still refraining from making any contact, "I've always wanted you… from the very moment you showed your gorgeous complexion in my life I've wanted you… so so badly…" he ran his thumbs across my cheeks roughly, "I've never been more hooked on another human in my life… and I want you so badly" his breath hitched, "I need you" his voice strained. My chest juddered as I released a shaky breath, "I _really_ need you Arthur… I am nothing without you" once… one time wouldn't hurt would it? My heart screamed as I reluctantly nudged into his skin; the contact which was burning me, like acid. He still smelt like coffee… two shots one pinch of cinnamon. His breath smelt like peppermint… with a hint of cheap alcohol. Alcohol? I never knew he drank spirits? I hated alcohol. It tasted like anaesthetic and stung my throat when I knocked it back. I hated alcohol. As I continued to smell I recognized the familiar scent; he smelt like a dimly lit bar hazy with smoke, he reeked with something other than alcohol and smoke too… something far worse. A woman's perfume. My stomach wrenched again and my eyes stung.

"Leave" I whispered against his flesh.

The warmth lingered before it pulled away. The door clicked softly closed.

I bit the inside of my lip and opened my eyes. Nothing. He was gone, "idiot." I choked back some prickling tears. He disappeared… he was gone. The corners of my eyes began to prickle and I sniffed as I rested my hands on the edge of my vanity mirror; I wiped my eyes and grumbled to myself, "good riddance…" I exhaled and collapsed into fits of tears which pulled at my chest as gravity tempted me towards the earth. So it happens again.

I rested my head against the mirror and felt the heat of my tears condense on the glass and fog; I looked up at the man in the reflection of the glass, his face was slim… tears streaked his cheeks and dark circles sunk his bacteria green eyes into his skull; I had never been so disgusted in my life, "I hate you…" I sneered at the man who sneered back at me, I was glad the feeling was mutual.

The party commenced.

Men and their partners scattered across the polished floors; white smiles and glittering jewellery dappling across the main room, dotting for what seemed like miles across the room… like stars. I pressed a chilled glass against my lips and took a small sip of brandy into my mouth as I watched all the grins and laughs pass by as a blur or colour. I swished the liquid around in my mouth inspecting my surroundings; absorbing every sound, sight and smell like a sponge, I swallowed my mouthful and sighed. I wasn't a man for parties… loud noises and crowded spaces; so I found a cosy corner to lean against the wall and drink my brandy in peace, humming along absent minded to the tune played by the small band at the other end of the room. Occasionally there would be a couple of people who would pass bay and say, "hey! I know that face! You're Arthur Kirkland right?" to which I would nod politely and act all coy and shy; being loud and obnoxious doesn't always bring in the ladies you know, some like the humble and sensitive type. People recognise me for my art… which is always nice, some ask me about what happened with 'Mister Jones'… which isn't so pleasant. Halfway into the party I had kept my drinks slowly coming in order not to get hammered… yet. I would wait until all of the guests left before grabbing all the bottles left behind and locking myself in Francis' study and downing them all. That was all I could think about right now… waiting for the party to finish so I could get heavily intoxicated on my own and pass out.

"Mind if I join you?" a voice chirped through my thoughts. I shook my head back into reality. A woman stood before me. A very attractive woman at that; she wore a beautiful white dress decorated with beads and flower patterns, her hair was a dark blonde and curled at the bottom… she smiled delicately through red lipstick.

"Oh yeah sure… uh, go ahead!" I nodded and gestured to the wall space next to me. She smiled wider and leant on her shoulder looking at me. I attempted to refrain from looking at her as she stared at me with a cheeky expression; a giggle curved her dainty rose-leaf lips into a smile, I averted my eyes and took another sip of my brandy.

"So… are you enjoying the party?" I nodded half-heartedly.

"Yeah, I'm not really interested in parties to be honest… I'm not that kind of guy. And yourself? You look like you're a social girl" she smiled and shook her head.

"Oh no, not me. I'm not that kind of girl… I was obliged to be here tonight" I raised a brow.

"Obliged? By whom?" She turned to the crowd like a dog seeing a squirrel and snapped her head back.

"Oh this is my favourite tune! Dance with me won't you Arthur!" I frowned.

"How do you- ah!" she grabbed my wrist and pulled me through the crowd of people; battering against them like a pinball, uttering many apologies as I went. I stumbled out onto the dance floor and she swept me up into a waltz position. This woman was pretty enthusiastic for a non-party girl, "how do you know my name?" She laughed as we twisted and spun between other couples.

"Who doesn't know your name? You're pretty well-known around London y'know? You're far too humble Artie" I grumbled and blushed a little. We danced for a while in silence and occasional gazes; I sluggishly began to relax into the situation and appear less awkward to this stunning girl, who rested her soft blonde head against my shoulder, "you're a very good dancer Arthur" she sighed against my chest. I smiled and rested my head against hers.

"Thankyou… uh… sorry I never caught your na-"

"I realise that any girl would be lucky to have you as their lover…" I swallowed and uttered an awkward squeak. Which she noticed. Her head lifted from my chest and she wrapped her arms around my neck; my face heated up into a hot red hue.

"Uhh… beg my pardon miss but I still don't know your na-"

"… or perhaps you're not in to that kind of stuff" I paused. Did she just say what I thought she had said. I think she did.

"E-excuse me!?" I whispered sharply frowning down at her. She lifted her lips up to my ear and whispered.

"I know who you are… I know what you are… I know what's going on" I shivered, "I know everything from start to finish" my grip around this woman's waist tightened as I turned into her neck.

"How. Who are you" she pulled away as the song finished. She smirked and tapped her nose. She suddenly turned and disappeared into the crowd of faces; white dress trailing behind her like a ghost, disappearing into the bodies. I reached out and yelled after her, "hey! Wait a second! Who are you!?" but it was too late; my words were wasted, mere mutterings against the roar of clapping hands. She was gone… and the band stopped playing. But something else caught my attention. I turned to the stage as a flash of white caught my eye, "you have got to be kidding me…" I mumbled as a hand clutched the microphone and spoke.

"How's everyone doing tonight? I'm glad you all came this evening to farewell the boys we all know and love!" the white woman winked at me from upon the stage, "now this song will be something especially for the boys here, I hope you enjoy it and don't hesitate to sing along if you know the words! Once again ladies and gentlemen I am Vera Lynn enjoy the show!"

Vera Lynn. Vera bloody Lynn. Widely known as "The Forces' Sweetheart"; an English singer, songwriter and actress whose musical recordings and performances were enormously popular, "~_We'll meet again… don't know where, don't know when… but I know we'll meet again some sunny day_" all matters aside; she did have a lovely voice, _"~Keep smiling through… just like you always do… 'till the blue skies drive the dark clouds faraway_" she continued to sing. So this was the woman Jones' had met while I was sick in bed… they must have met during a crossover at a recording studio or something; but if he did make the first move to court her I suppose I would understand, she is very beautiful and polite, "~_So will you please say "Hello", to the folks that I know… tell them I won't be long, they'll be happy to know… that as you saw me go… I was singing this song_" the men and women around me began to hum softly against their lovers' chests and exchange affectionate glances with one another. I stood alone, "~_We'll meet again… don't know where, don't know when… but I know we'll meet again some sunny day" _as she finished and took a bow… I realised how lonely I really was. I peered down at my hands; they appeared so thin and empty, without someone to fill the gaps… I entwined my fingers and sighed. I had final realised. I was alone.

"How did you like it?" I looked up. Vera grinned in front of me. I untwined my fingers and smiled back.

"Wonderful! I had no idea it was you I was talking to Vera… it's a pleasure to finally meet you" I extended a hand to her. She took it in her own soft palm and; yet again, began pulling me through the crowd away from the stage.

"Forget the pleasantries dear. We have more pressing matters to discuss…" she threw a smile back over her shoulder.

She sat me down at Francis' personal bar and ordered me a drink, "two gin and tonics please!" she pushed some cash across the counter and winked at the bartender, "keep the change" he blushed and quickly swiped the money away. She turned to me and rested her cheek upon her hand, "if you haven't already figured it out Arthur… I know about your relationship with Alfred" I shook my head and removed my brown tweed coat.

"We're not in a relationship Vera, you should know that at least" I hung it on the back of the bar chair. She raised a brow.

"Well, that's not what I've been hearing…" I froze.

"What do you mean…"

"You know he talks about you a lot… by that I mean almost all the time. Listen, when we first met I certainly did have a little feelings for Alfred… I mean he was a really attractive guy with an incredible voice! Who wouldn't love him? So we started getting close… working together and writing songs. It was great and I thought he felt the same way I did…" she sighed despondently and her blue eyes became dull, "but when I confessed my love for him…"

**"Alfred… there's something I have to tell you…"**

**"Yes Vera? Is there something wrong?"**

**"I really… I have feelings for you Alfred. I have really treasured the time we've spent working together and I-"**

**"Vera… I understand what you're trying to say"**

**"You do?"**

**"Yes. And I'm so sorry… but I don't feel the same"**

**"Oh"**

**"I am so sorry. But my heart belongs to someone else…" **

"It didn't turn out how I wanted to…" she smiled softly, "he only ever talked about one person when we were together, so I was silly for thinking that way…" the bartender handed us the drinks across the bar, turning Vera's attention to the man, "thanks hon"

"My pleasure Miss Lynn" he grinned. Vera placed a hand on his; he blushed bright pink, she looked up at him from under her soft eyebrows.

"Please… call me Vera" he nodded quickly and returned to cleaning the already clean glasses. She giggled and returned to me; holding the glass up, "cheers!"

"Cheers" I took a large swig of the foul liquid. I hated alcohol.

"So…"

"Look I know what you're trying to do. Alfred told you to do this, didn't he? And with all due respect I'm afraid I am not going to have a bar of it… so I'm just going to go no-" I lifted myself up from the bar chair in an attempt to exit the conversation. Vera caught my wrist.

"No. He doesn't know I'm doing this" her facial expression morphed completely between seconds. Her became icy, "I'm only going to tell you the truth… not because Alfred told me to, because he didn't. It's because I want to" I watched as he lower lip began to twitch, the ice began to melt in her eyes, "he loves you Arthur. He tells me every day. He'll wake up on my couch covered in a layer of empty bottles smelling like a bar every morning after passing out from intoxication and exhaustion and cry because he still can't forget you. When he doesn't drink I'd hear the bed creak all night as he would lay there tossing and turning in a sleepless flush… or crying out in nightmares. It's constantly 'I love him Vera!' or 'He hates me Vera!' or 'Vera tell him I love him!' and I get real tired of it y'know" she took a deep breath and let go of my wrist, "I'm not asking you to go back to him… I'm simply asking you to understand that I care for him. I want you to understand that if he keeps drinking until he passes out, skipping food and going for midnight strolls drunk out his mind to try and forget you… well… I don't know. He needs you Arthur" I stood from my seat and brushed my waistcoat down.

"Thank you for the drink Vera. It was a pleasure talking to you… goodnight" I turned away from the bar and into the main hall.

It was packed so densely it appeared to be a clump of hormones and colour; I clamped my arms close to my stomach as I was battered around like a sheep being herded into the correct pen, people pushing, laughing, kissing their partner… every type of human you could ever witness in your life stood in this sea of faces. Plump, willowy, wizened, ripe, native, ethnic, white, tan… every race of human it seemed stood in this room. I shuddered. What do I do? We were one in the same. I couldn't supress my feelings for much longer… he was leaving for the war tomorrow. He would be gone for god knows how long. He might die. My breathing started to become shallower. It were as if some unearthly force had wrapped its hands around my chest and squeezed with all its might… only getting tighter. My breaths resembled small hiccups. I clutched my chest in anguish.

"Good Evening ladies and gentlemen! I hope you are all having the time of your lives tonight!" I froze. I wrenched my neck to the left reticently; feeling my body try and restrict this movement, that voice. There's something about your voice… something rich; warm like brandy swirling in my chest, an inexpressible heat. I could never describe it… hell I still can't describe it. But I could recognize it in a heartbeat, "it's been a while since I've done this… so I hope you'll forgive me if I'm a little rusty" he chuckled into the microphone along with the audience who hummed with joy. He stood on the stage dressed in his gorgeous blue suit and red tie accompanied by his thick rimmed black glasses; just like the first time, but now… I wasn't standing backstage to encourage him, "now… I suppose you don't mind me getting a little personal with you, otherwise I wouldn't be standing before you today" he knelt down and swung his legs over the edge of the stage so they dangled off the edge, "please take a seat if you may!" he gestured to the standing crowd who looked for the nearest seat. People around me were seating themselves so quickly I took to the back of the room; to my wall spot I had secured before, "recently… things have changed, as you probably all know. We've been asked to take a risk by fighting this war… to protect those we care most about. Whether they be your mother, sister, friend, girlfriend or wife…" he daydreamed for a moment; caught in a moment of personal muse, "now raise your hand if you have a lover in this room! Come on now don't be shy!" almost every hand in the room raised; along with cheeky giggles and cheek kisses, I watched Alfred. His eyes skimmed across the room and smiled lackadaisically at the hands… his eyes looked so… so… empty. I inspected his face; the words of Vera echoed in my head:

**"He'll wake up on my couch covered in a layer of empty bottles smelling like a bar every morning after passing out from intoxication and exhaustion and cry because he still can't forget you"**

I thought back to that same morning.

**"Get up" a voice barked. I shielded my eyes before taking a peek at the real world. A figure was tearing down all the fabric from the windows and letting light into the living room; it was then I realised how many bottles of cheap alcoholic beverages lay around my couch bed, they clinked as I wriggled underneath the woollen blanket.**

My hand twitched as it released its grip from my side.

**"When he doesn't drink I'd hear the bed creak all night as he would lay there tossing and turning in a sleepless flush… or crying out in nightmares"**

I ran my fingers through my hair.

**"Alfred"**

**My eyes shot open.**

**It was black. The windows had been covered tightly with black fabric; every door had been sealed, I laid in a void. Sirens outside the walls became a muffled hum; they seemed distant, there was no air raid in London tonight. The smell of alcohol lingered on my clothing like a cruel reminder of the days that were yet to come; sleepless nights stained in blood and echoing cries of pain, a sound far more petrifying than any siren… the shrieks of one whose heart had broken.**

We were one in the same.

My hand raised above my head.

They pierced me. The icy blue wrung my delicate heart and strained my voice. He stared at me. I stared at him. He looked at my raised hand. Then he looked directly in my eyes. His mouth was now slightly open. He looked stunned. What was so bloody interesting? Foolish lout. His moronic complexion was so entirely loathsome that I feel even the Queen would have to turn away in pity for the idiotic creature; his glasses were slipping down his nose, his eyes ensnared onto me with a certain emotion that I could not pinpoint. Eyes sharp and rapt, I simply watched him as he ogled at me with a fixating stare; latched upon me; enmeshing my breath with an intense grasp, a formidable penitence it seemed… he was guilty, "a-alright… w-wow… a lot of love birds chirping in here!" He chuckled staring directly at me, "well… I am just as accountable it seems" he frailly raised his hand above his head. I gulped, "I too have a lover" the room echoed with gasps and sighs of disappointment, "in fact they are in the room right now!" the gasps grew louder and people began to turn heads and whisper to one another, "…so… while they're here and listening… I want to tell them something" he cleared his throat, "~_if you let me love you… it's for sure I'm gonna love you, all the way…_" I simply watched him as he stared at me with a fixating stare. It were as if we were the only two in the room; the other guests blurred out and the colours seeped together like a watercolour painting, all I saw was him. All I heard was him. All I needed was him. The crowd cheered as they realised the first song he was to sing; the song he was most famous for, "please… _~all the way!_" I nodded. I swear… at that moment the room got a little brighter; the sun's rays became incomparable to the gleaming angel that rose up before me, "ladies and gentlemen… my name is Miser Jones, and this one's for you!"

He sang to me. All night he sang to me. Even when the guests began to thin and fall asleep he continued to sing. I listened. Standing arms crossed at the back of the room. I was beginning to grow drowsy and I reclined back onto the wall further; lulling to sleep with the soft sound of his voice, caressing my ears into a deep sleep. Consciousness appeared to slip away from me; it became a distant notion as pleasant dreams began to spill into my brain, warm and hazy in my skull… the warmth filling each limb of my body and weaselling its way into every crevice of my existence. All was numb with a tepid security; like a sheet wrapping itself around me, snuggly and cosy. It felt like I was lying on a grassy hill in the afternoon warmth of the sun; soaking up the heat, feeling the grass wriggle against my skin and tickling me with its soft green fingers. A warm breeze drifted across my face… ruffling my hair… smelling distinctly of peppermint. I rolled over onto my belly and pressed my nose into the soft grass which smelt strangely of coffee… double shot with a pinch of cinnamon.

"Alfred!"

My eyes shot open.

It was black. The windows had been covered tightly with black fabric; every door had been sealed, I laid in a void. Sirens outside the walls became a muffled hum; they seemed distant, there was no air raid in London tonight. The smell of coffee lingered on my clothing like a cruel reminder of the days that were yet to come; sleepless nights stained in blood and echoing cries of pain, a sound far more petrifying than any siren… the shrieks of one whose heart had broken. I moved. There was a tinkling sound… not like the sound of empty bottles… like metal.

I looked up from the pillow I had buried my face in. Two dog tags laid on the pillow next to my head in the darkness. I squinted to read what they had engraved on them: **Lance Corporal, Alfred F. Jones**

These tags were what they gave to soldiers in the army… so that if they died they could be identified. I bit my lip and clutched the cold metal to my palm.

I couldn't even begin to imagine the number of soldiers that would perish on the battle front; how many I would watch die in a hospital bed, while their family and friends sat at home twiddling their thumbs waiting for their husband or daddy to come home. Little would they know that daddy would be clutching his face as poison gas roasted his eyeballs until they dropped out like raisins. Wives lying beside a memory as the husbands lie beside corpses; packed tightly for miles like fleshy stepping stones, the faces that were once pert and handsome, rotting and putrefying… unidentifiable. How many men would die? Would Alfred die?

"I got them today…" a voice murmured quietly. I looked up drowsily and could just make out a figure sitting in the chair on the opposite side of the bedroom. He rubbed his eyes and felt around for his glasses, "keep them…"

"But what if-"

"I'm getting new ones made… I told them there was a mistake. I'll be getting another pair tomorrow" he stood and adjusted his glasses on his nose bridge. He knelt by my side, "twelve thirty… that's when I leave" I nodded into the pillow, "but I still have a few hours…" he rested his head upon the mattress and began to stroke my head softly. I mumbled something into the pillow. He paused, "what? I couldn't hear you?"

"Stay. You dolt" I muttered, clenching my teeth. He pressed his lips against the crown of my head and sighed.

"Of course I'll stay… I'd stay with you until the world fell to ruin, if I had the choice…" he continued to stroke my head and hum quietly.

"Lay with me…" I whispered into the pillow again, embarrassed at this request, "you'll be gone… so I want to make the most of what we have now"

The rising and falling of his chest beneath my head felt like I was on a ship; sailing across a fabric ocean. I had always wanted to see the ocean… when I was a child I always wanted to be a Pirate more than anything; sail the seas, lawless and free. Alfred's breathing tousled my hair gently like a soft sea breeze, the heat of his skin warming my face like the bright sun. Flickering open my eyes. I remembered where I was. Lifting my head off the bare chest of Jones I soaked in the astounding image which presented itself to me.

"Mmnngh… wha?" he mumbled dreamily stretching his taut biceps, "Arthhurr~?" I smiled and raised a finger to his lips.

"Shh… go back to sleep Alfred" he looked at me for a moment. Heaven knows what he was thinking in those few seconds.

"I can't" he sighed and pulled me higher and closer in the bed, so that I was able to nestle in the nook of his neck, "remember" he began to stroke the back of my head tenderly and nuzzled his face into my hair,

"You have to go soon…" I mumbled.

"I just wanna enjoy this moment… right here…right now" I relaxed into his collarbone and wrapped my limp arms over his chest, "with you…" there was a pause of silence.

"I love you Alfred…" the silence continued. I felt him grin against my head.

"I love you too Arthur..." and he began to hum quietly, "_~We'll meet again… don't know where, don't know when… but I know we'll meet again some sunny day…"_

Or so we'd hoped…

* * *

SONG REFERENCE:

_My Funny Valentine - Frank Sinatra_

_We'll Meet Again - Vera Lynn_

_All the Way - Frank Sinatra_


	6. POST SCRIPT - Part 6

**.Post Script.**

_Part 6_

* * *

_**Mr Alfred F. Jones**_

_**British Forces Germany**_, **Front Line**

**2****nd**** Platoon**

**January 25****th****, 1940**

_Dear Alfred_

_It's been some time hasn't it… well, since I saw you last. _

_It was after the army's farewell party I think; that one that was held at Francis' house, I'm still living with him… it's safer that way. Others have taken refuge at his house too; two other doctors from the hospital and one being our old friends from University… do you remember Matthias? He's one of the guys staying with us. I haven't heard from Vera Lynn since the party either. I heard she was travelling with the forces as an entertainer. _

_How are you? It's a silly question… but I just want to know. I hope you're doing relatively well. _

_Have you been out there yet? _

_I shouldn't ask too many questions… you've probably got enough on your mind already, mister Lance Corporal. _

_I still have your dog tags. I wear them every day. I can't stop looking at them… _

_I'm fine. Keeping well and healthy, food is scarce but we are fed well enough at the hospital, so all is well. There haven't been too many injuries at the moment; not bad ones at least, a few bullet wounds that turned infectious… but nothing ghastly. _

_What's it like in Germany? Well… I took a guess that's where you are, I know we're not exactly allowed to speak of the army's location, but y'know… is it… I don't know – how would you describe a battle field. _

_I've attached a picture to this letter. Hopefully you'll recognise it._

_I suppose I'd better wrap up… I hope you get this letter. _

_If you have any free moments; spare a thought for me?_

_Good Luck_

_Love Arthur. _

* * *

**Mr Arthur Kirkland**

**63 Gower Street, London**

**United Kingdom**

**March 12****th,**** 1940**

_Dear Arthur_

_Sorry if the paper is a bit crumpled, everyone was dying to get some haha!_

_You're right, it has been a while! I'm sorry I couldn't write back sooner, things were getting a bit difficult and I had to manage a few things but we're getting there. Progress is slow over here but we have got to have some hope that it'll get better yeah? _

_I see, how is Francis? Not making any moves on the nurses I hope! Not that it would matter if he did; I'd be worried for his sake, the girls are pretty tough these days Ahaha! As for Matthias… yeah I remember him. How is he? Still as much as an asshole as he was before? I kid I kid… how is he? Not causing too much of a ruckus? _

_Vera! She wouldn't come this far into battle; the officials wouldn't allow that, but I hear that she is entertaining troops overseas. I got a letter from her to; she says to say hello to you from her… so you've met? I didn't know that! When did you meet? And how come I didn't hear about it?_

_How am I? Well… I'm alright. Things could be better. I could be back in England. Or at home with my mom in America. What am I kidding, anything could be better than this place. I'll be brutally honest – I hate it. The boys and I lay awake in the barracks every night we're not out on the field blowing each other's brains out… I'm not exaggerating either. We haven't slept properly in days. Constantly being awoken by the howl of aircrafts and chatter of gunshots… it's like trying to sleep in hell. Food is getting harder to get and our rations are running out fast; we weren't given nearly enough to feed over a hundred burly folks that direly needed the sustenance, but we can't complain… it's some or none. I thought it would be different. _

_I shouldn't be bothering you with this Ahaha – it's not that bad! The boys and I are still living and breathing! A good game of poker ought to liven us up! No one from my barracks has been injured yet so we keep praying that we'll all return together; I'll introduce the fellas to you when I get home, they're a funny bunch alright… a good bunch of blokes. _

_I'm glad to hear you're doing well. It makes me feel a lot more relaxed knowing that London is safe. I hope we don't have to see each other before the war has ended; if you get what I mean, I don't necessarily want to get hurt and have to see you in hospital ahah! How unfortunate that would be!_

_I shouldn't joke about that sort of thing._

_Thanks for the picture by the way, I keep it folded up inside my journal… everyone has a journal; it's imperative that we use it as a soldier to keep us sane, I use it of course… but I don't see how accounting the day's events can keep one sane. Can you send me some more sketches? It's something to look forward to when the day is over… it reminds me of England… and being at home with you._

_By the way, you don't need to ask for me to think of you. I do it all the time._

_When I get home I'll sing for you, okay? Just you… and only you._

_I'll write soon, I promise._

_I love you_

_Love Alfred._

* * *

_**Mr Alfred F. Jones**_

_**British Forces Germany**_, **Front Line**

**2****nd**** Platoon**

**July 4****th****, 1940**

_Dear Alfred._

_A huge number of soldiers came into the Hospital today. Well over what the facilities could handle. Soldiers were lying on the floor on make-do beds made out of sheets and pillows and there is barely any floors pace left in the wards._

_What happened!?_

_Their faces are all deformed! They look like their flesh melted like wax! Skin bubbling and blackening, was there a fire or something? _

_Some of them are blind… some of them can't speak... some of them will never walk again. What the heck is going on out there? Gun fire could not have done this, nor could have fire for that fact! Something strange is going on and I want to know what. People are dying everywhere… and I'm starting to think that this war is more than we're making it out to be. Please be alright._

_Please reply soon, I'm worried sick._

_Love Arthur. _

* * *

**Mr Arthur Kirkland**

**63 Gower Street, London**

**United Kingdom**

**October 31****st****,**** 1940**

_Dear Arthur._

_I'm sorry that this is written in pen on the back of a dirty handkerchief, we ran out of paper to use. So this will only be brief._

_The Germans are using gas now against us and the Allied armies. They have these little grenade type things which they throw down into our trenches and they explode with this yellow smoke which burns like nothing else… it's hideous. We lost Joe and Simon to a gas attack. They were two of the men in my platoon. Simon left behind his younger brother Warren who is still grieving over his loss… we all are. _

_It's hideous Arthur… they clutched their eyes and screamed as I watched their eyeballs sizzle and spit like fucking fried eggs. Their skin bubbling and peeling… until they were both just hunks of raw meat writhing in the mud. I can't even begin to describe some of the things I have seen… there were twenty of us in my platoon at the beginning of the month. There's eight of us now. Steve, Joseph, Peter, Tom, Warren, Aaron, Ray and myself. We're all struggling to stay alive. _

_I refuse to die Arthur. I won't let that happen. I promise that I'll come home alive, not fleshless in a box, nor as a pile of ashes. Alive. Living and breathing. Walking and talking. I swear._

_I love you Arthur. _

_Love Alfred._

* * *

_**Mr Alfred F. Jones**_

_**British Forces Germany**_, **Front Line**

**2****nd**** Platoon**

**November 10****th****, 1940**

_Dear Alfred._

_I know you will come back. It'd be so unlike you to quit halfway through._

_I'm sorry if I don't write a lot… I can't think of what to say. I can't imagine what you have been through. I wish I was there to help... _

_On a brighter note the number of injured soldiers have been decreasing, so that must mean something good on the field right? _

_Christmas is coming soon to, we were told by the officials that if we wanted to send a present to a soldier that it was allowed. So… what do you want for Christmas Alfred? I'll get you whatever you want._

_Matthias and Francis say hello by the way; they wish you the best, Matthias says he's sorry for being a dick… but I'm sure that it doesn't matter now._

_I miss you Alfred… I can't wait until you come home. Can't be much longer now can it?_

_Love Arthur._

* * *

**Mr Arthur Kirkland**

**63 Gower Street, London**

**United Kingdom**

**December 25****th****,1940**

_Dear Arthur. _

_How can I be satisfied with a present when all I want for Christmas is to be home with you… but as you can see I was given a new stack of writing paper to send letters to you with! Which was a pretty good gift. Warren and the boys gave it to me… they know how much I love writing you letters._

_Today the war was suspended. We played football on the battlefield amongst the snow… even the Germans joined in. It's funny… because playing football with the enemy I realise that; we've been killing innocent people, who have been forced to work for the Nazi's and political criminals… they are still humans too. Normal men like us. _

_I was having a beer with one of the Nazi soldiers actually. It looks so strange seeing this written on paper. His name was Henrich; he told me about his life at home, he has a wife called Doretta and three children… ages four, seven and ten. Two boys and one girl. He lived in a big house just outside of Berlin before the war began… he worked at a factory, designing watches and small mechanisms. He made a tidy sum of money and lived a beautiful life in his country house with his family. He couldn't have asked for more. He was so normal… so god damn innocent. _

_Answer me this Arthur. Why is it that civilians are called into fight when it is not our battle to win… why don't the politicians suit up and get their fancy asses down into the filth and blood? Kill a few people you know? It's bullshit. _

_I heard we'd all be going home soon. And what a jolly day that will be! I can't wait to come home and see London again! Sleep in my own bed, sit by the fire, drink a real cup of coffee… and I swear… the first thing I'm going to do when I get home… well. Let's just say you better be prepared Arthur. Because I've missed you a whole lot since I left. I can't wait to see __you __again._

_Merry Christmas Arthur. I love you so much._

_Love Alfred._

* * *

_**Mr Alfred F. Jones**_

_**British Forces Germany**_, **Front Line**

**2****nd**** Platoon**

**January 25****th****, 1942**

_Dear Alfred._

_I haven't been home in days; every night I've had to stay awake at the hospital taking care of terrified patients, each man trembling beneath the covers of their beds… I don't blame them… I don't want to begin to think of what their eyes have seen. What your eyes have seen._

_Almost every man in the hospital has grey or white hair. Francis says it's because of their grief that their hair turns silver… it's like all the colour in their bodies has drained. I swear I only see black and white these days._

_Air raids happen almost every night now, sirens are constantly ringing in my ears and clawing at my brain! Along with the yells and screams of patients… now both soldiers AND citizens. What the hell is this world coming to? _

_The only break from this hell I get now is when I write these letters to you. Even now I'm sitting next to one of the patients and I can barely believe that he is only eighteen years old… he looks like he's forty. The corners of his eyes are wrinkled, his face is so thin and acetic. His hair has streaks of white and grey and his skin would make a ghost jealous… he has no leg. He'll never walk again. We had to amputate it today due to mangled skin and major infection… it was disgusting. But what's more – we've had to skin graft almost half of his face. There is a photo of him and his girlfriend at his bedside table here and when I look at it… I see no resemblance of the man he once was. His girlfriend won't recognise him on sight. She probably won't want to look at his face. I feel so sorry for this boy. Only eighteen and his life has already took a turn for the worst… his whole life ruined. _

_The other patient on my right suffered a major concussion… he doesn't remember a thing. He's a schizophrenic. Occasionally he would leap out of his bed and start screaming at a nurse whom he had never met before; acting like she was a member of his platoon, yelling abuse and orders… or crying because he knew that they had survived. It's heart-breaking. _

_Now I know why they gave you diaries and lots of paper to keep you sane… without writing these letters to you I would have lost the plot. There's a pile of unsent letters in the drawer beside my bed; I'd better not send them, some of them are a little too depressing._

_I miss you Alfred… I really miss you. A day never goes by when I don't imagine you here with me; clutching me into a bone breaking hug, like you used to… even though I tried to pull away you kept me close. Thank you for doing that. Because now I realise how important those moments are to me… how much I treasure you. _

_I'm looking at your dog tags now… they look so pretty glistening in the candle light. I like to run my thumb over their surface and feel the bumps of your name engraved into the metal; it is somewhat… calming. Something about them make me feel better about myself – more sure that you'll come home soon. _

_So come home soon why don't you? I love you._

_Love Arthur._

* * *

**Mr Arthur Kirkland**

**63 Gower Street, London**

**United Kingdom**

**November 26****th****,1942**

_Dear Arthur._

_I don't know how much more of this I can handle._

_I can't do it. I can't do it Arthur. My platoon is almost gone… there are three of us left. FUCKING THREE! Warren, Peter and me… that's all. _

_Do you want to know what the fuck happened to the others? Well I'll tell you exactly what happened to the others!_

_Steve was hit by a bomb in the skull and exploded like a party popper across the field. Blood spattered everywhere! There is still some left on my fucking uniform which I haven't washed in months._

_Joseph and Tom were charged upon by a surprise attack; stabbed repeatedly in the face and neck, before finally getting a grenade planted inside their shirts…_

_Aaron and Ray however… they were taken captive by the Nazi army. I don't know who knows what the hell is going on with their logic of imprisonment… but for some reason it includes the detachment of limbs and reattaching them on other orifices of their body. The leader of our ranks was sent the photos sent as threats from their captors. Warren, Peter and I were taken aside and shown them… as we were their friends. Their brothers. I can't speak any more of what they did to my friends… because it makes me sick thinking about it. _

_This place is hell on earth. _

_They won't let us retreat. We aren't getting any new soldiers for our platoon either. IT IS FUCKING SUICIDE! _

_I haven't slept in days… I drink and write everything I see… it's all I have left to keep me calm… but I'm afraid that I have lost my sanity. I don't want to be insane. I don't want to see images of you on the battlefield; I already do but I know it's a lie, I know you're not out there fighting… which makes me happy. I'm glad you're in a safer place. I am so fucking glad. _

_My uniform used to be beige… now it's all red. _

_I've killed so many Arthur. I'm a murderer. But how can I defeat the Nazi's while saving their innocent men? I can't do anything but kill kill KILL! _

_This photo I have of you in my hand is all I have. _

_I want to see your face again. Your real face. One that black and white and fading into the paper. I want to touch clean skin, un harmed flesh… I need to feel the soft strands of your hair against my lips as I kiss your head… I want to feel your beating heart. Hear your voice. I'm dying to hear your voice. That remarkable British accent…_

_This won't help either of us. _

_I'm dying Arthur… I can't handle one more day sleeping in these louse riddled clothes. I'm waiting for the day when our captain calls us and tells us we can all go home._

_When that day comes… I'll sing for you again._

_I love you Arthur. Stay strong._

_Love Alfred._

* * *

_**Mr Alfred F. Jones**_

_**British Forces Germany**_, **Front Line**

**2****nd**** Platoon**

**March 17****th****, 1943**

_ALFRED._

_News has reached the hospital ward that the longest remaining platoon members are coming home! There is going to be an Allied Forces battleship leaving from Brest in France sometime soon!_

_Tell me this is true!?_

_Love Arthur_

* * *

**Mr Arthur Kirkland**

**63 Gower Street, London**

**United Kingdom**

**June 20****th****,1943**

_Dear Arthur._

_I'm coming home._

_I'm finally coming home._

_Peter and I are coming home. Our names were on the list that was released of those who have served the longest. We're coming home._

_I'm packing my bags right this second! Not that there's much to pack, but I'm finally leaving this hell hole! _

_I'm leaving tomorrow in a convoy and we will arrive in France about a month and a half from then! I'll be home in a few months Arthur! You don't have to worry anymore! _

_Better start boiling that kettle sweetheart! _

_I love you so god damn much!_

_Love love love Alfred!_

_P.S I LOVE YOU!_

* * *

_**Mr Alfred F. Jones**_

_**British Forces Germany**_, **Front Line**

**2****nd**** Platoon**

**October 23****rd****, 1943**

_Dear Alfred._

_I heard your convoy arrived in France today! I've been on a trip to our old house and guess what? It's still there! I've been cleaning and making everything look great for when you finally arrive! _

_I even got my hands dirty and slapped a new coat of paint on the walls to give it a fresher feel; I know you like the colour blue… _

_I found and framed some of our old photos and sketches from University days AND I framed our diplomas as well! There is fresh fruit and food in the cupboards for when you come home; and, you'll be happy to hear I boil the kettle every day just for you. I set out two places at the table. Two cups, two knives, two forks, two plates… _

_I can hardly wait!_

_I love you so much!_

_Love Arthur!_

* * *

_**Mr Alfred F. Jones**_

_**British Forces Germany**_, **Front Line**

**2****nd**** Platoon**

**February 10****th****, 1944**

_Dear Alfred._

_It's been a while… where are you? _

_I haven't heard anything about the ship's arrival?_

_Reply soon!_

_Lots of Love Arthur._

* * *

_**Mr Alfred F. Jones**_

_**British Forces Germany**_, **Front Line**

**2****nd**** Platoon**

**May 22****nd****, 1944**

_Dear Alfred._

_Still no news, was there a delay in the ship's departure? Were the Frenchies giving you a hard time or something?_

_Francis and Matthias haven't heard a thing either. Matthias is still waiting for his brother Berwald to return too! He's on the same ship too apparently. _

_A nurse in our ward has been waiting to hear from a guy called Peter; I can only assume that's your Peter? The one from your platoon?_

_I hope you get this letter, maybe they don't send letters to those on battleships._

_Reply soon!_

_Love Arthur._

* * *

_**Mr Alfred F. Jones**_

_**British Forces Germany**_, **Front Line**

**2****nd**** Platoon**

**September 6****th****, 1944**

_Dear Alfred._

_We saw a ship pull into the harbour today. But you weren't on it… it was a battleship that had come from somewhere along the French Coastline._

_When we asked around the town about the boat there was no word of soldiers coming in from the German front._

_Where the hell are you, I'm scared to death._

_Love Arthur._

* * *

Days passed slowly. Nights became longer and more painful as I imagined you laying your head beside mine. Filling myself with empty emotions… where the hell did that boat go? The one that pulled in was almost empty.

The house which we had made our home together; was growing colder, void-like… a mere memory of what had been and a cruel reminder of what could have been.

He sketches on the wall were all I had to remind myself of his face for the past four years; in my mind his face was composed of graphite and paper, stained at the edges with tea… finger prints smudged along his neck, softening the harsh lines and shadows of his jawline. Watercolour eyes watching me stare into the watery abyss of my tea cup; inhaling the steam as it rose and condensed on my cheeks, my paling complexion. The soft tocks of the clock echoing above the silence; slicing through the empty room like a razor, slicing through my loud thoughts… which were screaming. Silence had never been so loud.

It was mid-December.

Frost had started to accumulate on the edges of my kitchen window; glittering like fake diamonds, against the soft sheet lolling above London and mirroring that below.

I reclined on the window sill of our bedroom; staring out at the streets below, clutching a cup of steaming tea. Another empty mug sat beside the kettle. Snow had only just begun to fall that day… even so… it looked like it was going to rain. The sky over London was overcast and dulled with the dense cloud; soon it would begin to rain, I hoped it would pour heavily when it did. I loved the rain. The way the plips and plops pattered against the roof of our house like little feet dancing on the ceiling. The way it would streak the windows like crystal droplets; crawling leisurely down the glass, and into the street below. A shrill crack of lightening permeated the thick rumble of thunder, wrenching it's fingers between thick black clouds heavy with water.

I rested my head against the cool glass and traced the rim of my cup as I sighed, "and soon it will rain…" I chuckled softly into the steam, "and soon it will rain…" I reclined further into the window sill… and further still into my thoughts. I remembered the first time I met Alfred…

**He peered down at me through his half-rimmed glasses which perched upon the bridge of his nose; in very likeness of parrot tilting forward off its post dangerously close to falling, in fact this man's personality was in very likeness of a parrot itself. Loud, obnoxious, over-enthusiastic, ostentatious and incredibly naïve. **

I laughed to myself; smiling fondly at the memory, he still hadn't changed. He never changed. I closed my eyes…

"**Matt!" Matthias squealed like a little pig. Someone emerged from the growing crowd; Matthias removed his foot from my chest, I coughed wildly and sat up instantly. I looked up. The man pushed up his glasses which had slipped down his nose; he glared at the Vice Captain with a stare colder than ice, he crossed his arms across his chest, "what is this?" Matthias cowered beneath the towering blonde.**

"**Why! He simply tripped and dropped all his books upon himself Cap'n! I was merely helping the poor fellow up!" the angry blonde raised a brow.**

"**With your foot?" Matt gulped and nodded.**

He protected me… like a secret guardian. I would never forget that act of kindness. He was always kind. Compassionate. Although he was hardly humble, hardy… yet… he always had this remarkable power to strain my simple logic.

Thunder growled outside the window; yet no rain fell from the clouds…

I opened my eyes and glanced up to the far wall of our bedroom; plastered in frames which were filled with sketches, my eyes latched onto one…

**The Captain knelt down and picked up my biology text book; a piece of paper fluttered out, he swept that off the floor too. He stared at the graphite scribbles on the paper. Before I noticed his increasingly curious expression it was too late, "what's this?" He looked at me and showed me the paper. I held back a scream and went to snatch it from his grip, he pulled away and I missed, "ah ah… not until you tell me what it is!" he chuckled cheekily. I grumbled and snatched my Biology book from his other hand before standing and walking away. He stood and called after me as I headed to the stairs, "hey! I didn't even catch your name! What about a thank you?"**

"**Keep it" I carelessly called back. I swear my face would compete for a redder hue with a tomato.**

"He did keep it after all…" a warmth swirled in the bottom of my chest.

**I watched the closed shower curtain warily. The water ceased it's flow. I took the fastest action I could and dived into the nearest free shower cubicle and pulled the curtain closed with a completely inconspicuous screech. I held my hands over my mouth as I heard wet footsteps grow closer to this cubicle; I heard the water start again and I took a deep sigh of relief, he had stopped investigating my presence and returned to his shower, "GOT YOU!" I uttered a scream of shock as the Captain pulled the shower curtain back completely and grinned into my face; dripping wet and completely butt naked, I kept my eyes away from that particular area especially.**

"**HOW THE HELL DID YOU KNOW IT WAS ME!?" I yelled in embarrassment and horror.**

I uttered a small chuckle at the thought of my expression; I probably looked like a petrified mouse, something ridiculous of course. My face began to heat up and my throat began to throb in pain. I grit my teeth in a disdainful smile.

"**I'll sing if you draw!" my chest leaped. Someone wanted me to draw. For the first time in my life someone accepted what I did and WANTED me to pursue it. What's more; the deal was made sweeter by this chap with a golden voice, by granting me the chance to hear his sweet voice again. Without even thinking any further on the subject I blurted out what my mind forced me to.**

"**YES!" I covered my mouth again and he burst out laughing. **

"**Great! Then from this moment on we're partners!"**

We were partners. We still are partners… and we would be forever if it were possible. My eyes began to sting and I swallowed the pain in my throat.

"**I AM THE OFFICIAL UNIVERSITY JAZZ BAND SINGER!" He threw his arms around me and he lifted me high off my feet. He jumped and laughed in a golden ecstasy clutching my thin frame to his huge chest like a new porcelain doll given to a little girl as a surprise gift. For a split second I was enjoying this embrace. But then I shook out of it and began squirming in his grasp.**

"**P-PUT ME DOWN! I AM NOT A TOY!" and of course he didn't listen to my command… in fact he did the complete opposite. He placed his hands underneath my armpits and lifted me high above his head and laughed into my face which was growing increasingly hot.**

I wanted to let it out; call his name and throw myself into his arms, as he would crush me to his chest and lift me above his head like he used to. I wanted to feel my heart pound in my head and feel the bubbling adrenaline under my skin when he grinned at me.

**I watched as he shrunk back further into the wing and began to frantically adjust his red tie and buttons of his navy blue jacket; which only just fitted around his biceps and chest, he looked at the floor and bit his lip. I stood a few feet away from him in the wing; just standing with my arms crossed over my brown tweed coat, he refused to go onstage without me standing in the wings with him... and so there I was. I quietly shuffled over to him as the band began to tune their instruments onstage, gaining the attention of every eyeball in the building. I softly elbowed him in the arm his head snapped up to me; terrified icy blue eyes through thick black rimmed glasses, he looked so suave… like a real Frank Sinatra. **

"**I can't do it..." he whispered harshly through clenched teeth, "I've never sung to real people before!" I rolled my eyes and uttered an exasperated sigh. **

"**I'm a real person aren't I?" I mumbled softly as I fixed his tie for him.**

"**You…you're different!" I swallowed hard. I was different. I tried to shake off the blush before I could look at him in the eye again. I looked up at him. Lips pursed. I swiftly snatched his glasses from his nose and breathed on them.**

"**Am I now?" I raised a brow and polished the lenses on the arm of my coat. I could almost hear his heart racing in his chest from nerves. I placed his glasses gently back on his nose and he adjusted them to his liking, "you'll be outstanding. I don't even need to tell you that you git…" I looked him up and down as a last check for any potentially embarrassing flaws; but I knew I could never find a flaw on this man, it was next to impossible, "…just… pretend you're singing in the shower or something. Take your mind off the audience… they'll be enchanted by you Mister Jones" I straightened his coat and tried my hardest to hide a smirk from my face, "... just like I am" he opened his mouth to say something.**

"**Jones, they're all yours" the stage manager broke in, nodding towards the stage before returning to his post. He broke into a grin and held my arm; I felt the hot breath of his on my ear as he leant in dangerously close.**

"**This one's for you" he whispered against my ear.**

I pressed my hand over my mouth and forced my lips together. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to inhale calmly; which turned into shaky sighs and hiccups.

**A sharp pang of pain rattled my skull and I lie on the concrete for a moment to gather my scatted senses… when I lifted my head I was just in time to see Jones' fist collide with Matthias' stomach. **

"**KEEP YOUR GOD DAMN HANDS OFF HIM!" Matthias tumbled back into his gang who caught him as his face paled and he looked nauseous. Jones turned around and dashed to my side as I leant up and held the back of my head wincing, "are you okay? That was a pretty nasty fall! Are you hurt badly?" the questions ridiculed me as I was far more interested on the opposition who was regaining his stance quickly, too quickly. As soon as the Captain had helped me onto my feet Matthias was already sprinting towards him with another flying fist heading for Jones' face.**

"**MOVE!" on a whim that seemed like a brilliant idea of the time; I pushed Jones on to the concrete and received the blow for him, a cold leather gloved fist directly to the face.**

I wantedhim.

"**I want you to do something for me…" he murmured quietly with that rich melodic tone that made me quiver. He took my hand off of my head and he placed the pencil he picked up into my thin cold hands; his palms were so large in comparison to mine and so rough, his fingertips were calloused and hard, "I want you to draw me again…" he leant his head down to my ear; just as he did on his first performance, warm breath tickling my skin and making my poor heart to palpitate like a hammer. His voice trickled out like a slither of water droplets dripping down the side of my neck; almost inaudible, but evocative as ever. **

I _needed_ him.

"**Bare"**

I curled over and began to shake. My breathing started to become shallower. It were as if some unearthly force had wrapped it's hands around my chest and squeezed with all its might… only getting tighter. My breaths resembled small hiccups.

**I gripped the pencil in my sweaty palm tightly a as he stepped towards me; eyes sharp and rapt, I simply watched him as he stared at me with a fixating stare. He pressed his forehead against mine and pressed his bare chest against me; I kept my eyes wide open, I was far too terrified to let him vanish again. A hand wrapped itself behind the small of my back and pulled me closer into his coffee scented warmth; the other wiping away the tears from my cheeks. He said nothing. The only sounds uttered were hitched breaths and shaky sighs; his breath condensing on my skin, peppermint sighs tickling my ear. I felt something tickle my neck and I uttered a small embarrassed moan, I clutched his huge back and gripped his white shirt which slid off all too easily; my hands scrambled at his velvety shoulders, slipping beneath the building sweat. He pulled me harder into his body and my arms refused to let go as I made contact with every inch of his godly flesh.**

It stang. My voice strained as I forced words out between hiccups, "I-I… I LOVE Y-YOU!" I choked and shivered, "I-I NEED YOU!"

**An explosion. It felt like all the happiness in the world rushed to my chest and glittered under my skin. It felt like one million fire crackers were set off at the same time and exploded their miasmic spectrum of colours in my head. His lips tasted of cool peppermint and coffee… a winters morning defined in the lips of my once supressed lover. There it was.**

"I miss you Alfred…" I whispered into my hand.

There was a knock at the door.

My head shot up. I was imagining things.

Then it happened again. Three knocks.

It couldn't be.

My heart stopped. I felt every nerve in my body shriek.

I leapt off the window sill as fast as my little legs would allow; slamming into the door frame I spilled tea all over the carpet, my hands were trembling and my feet almost slipped from beneath me.

The front door was in sight and I reached for the handle tearing it open and flinging myself into the arms of the man that stood in the doorway. My hands scrambled up his back and clutched the filthy uniform in my palms; I pressed my face into his broad chest and let it out, hot tears poured down my cheeks and I laughed in tears of joy, "ALFRED! I THOUGHT I'D NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN! BY GOD I'VE MISSED YO-"

"Pardon… sir" I froze. I tore myself away from the stranger in uniform. That wasn't Alfred. I looked at the soldier who stood stunned on my doorstep, he cleared his throat, "are you mister Arthur Kirkland from 63 Gower Street?" I nodded jerkily. The soldiers voice was hoarse and grainy and incredibly sullen. His hands were held tightly behind his back. Then they moved.

There was a tinkling sound… not like the sound of empty bottles… like metal.

The soldier held something out to me. It looked like a chain; bent and scorched with charcoal it seemed. I reluctantly took it from the man. It felt icy cold and almost stung when I took hold of it. The chain unravelled.

I stopped.

The metal chain hung in my grasp. My hands began to shake. I squinted to read what it had inscribed.

Once I had read the words on the metal I uttered a quiet squeak and my legs fell from beneath me. All was cold… all was numb. I clutched the cold metal in my palm and stared blankly at the floor. A chill prickled across my skin. Then… I felt nothing.

"I'm so sorry…" his words were empty, "the ship carrying the 2nd platoon was sunk by German submarines not only hours from docking in London… October twenty third at two thirty five that afternoon was when she went down… there was nothing we could do… this is was the only thing we could recover from him. I am so so sorry"

The identical metal chain hung around my neck.

**Lance Corporal, Alfred F. Jones**.

Was dead.

_So it began to rain…_


End file.
